Saints and Sinners
by Ani Sparrow
Summary: Follow the adventures of Celia Hammond as she makes a new life for herself. But not quite the one she was expecting... Now rated M for adult content.
1. Chapter 1

There

I own nothing named in the Pirates of the Caribbean film(s) (unfortunately!) ;)

Well, I'm back! I hope you enjoy this story as much as you enjoyed my others – I certainly love typing it!

Chapter one 

Celia Hammond paused before knocking on the door to Father Bernard's study, going through her arguments one last time. She rapped sharply and entered when beckoned, smiling at the elderly priest seated in a large chair by the fireside.

"Ah, Sister Benedict…" He stopped, sighing deeply and with regret. "You're not Sister Benedict any more, are you?"

"No, Father," Celia smiled sadly. "Just plain Celia Hammond once again. How are you, Father?"

"I am well," he replied. "The pesky fever seems to be leaving me at last. It appears not to be the only thing leaving…"

"No, Father."

"Why? Why on earth do you want to go to practically the other side of the world? Are there not enough vagrants and vagabonds to save here?"

"Yes, but there are also plenty of good people such as yourself and Mother Superior to save them. The pirates of the Spanish Main most likely have no one to pray for their souls."

"But why does it have to be you?" the priest pressed. "I know the Bishop called for volunteers to go over and save these heathens, but why do you want to give up all you have here and risk your life?"

"Because… I don't entirely know, Father," Celia sighed. "It's just something I feel very strongly about – as if it's what I'm meant to do."

"You said something along those lines when you took your vows…"

"I took my vows seriously!" she defended. "They were not taken lightly, as you well know."

"All right, all right," Father Bernard soothed placatingly. "I was not suggesting otherwise. I just think, and Mother Superior agrees with me, that you are being a tad hasty."

"Well it's too late anyway, I leave for Portsmouth in the morning."

"It's never too late if you have changed your mind," he reminded her. "You can always stay."

"And do what? I can't exactly retake my vows."

"You can work with the poor and disadvantaged."

"No," Celia shook her head. "I have told you, it's something I want to do, something I _must_ do."

"Very well," the old man replied sadly. "I am sorry to see you leave – you brightened the place up with your smile."

"I am sorry to be leaving you all behind. Thank you for your guidance, Father."

"Take care, my child, and write to us, so at least we know that you are safe."

"It is a promise," she smiled, bending to give him a chaste peck on the cheek. "Goodbye, Father Bernard. God be with you."

"And with you, Celia, and with you…"

…

Four months later 

"Miss Hammond? We're approaching Nassau Port."

"Thank you, Mister Jenkins," Celia called from within her cabin. "I am just finishing my packing."

"Very well. I shall send one of the men to carry your trunks once we've anchored."

"All right." Celia stopped and brushed a stray strand of dark blonde hair from her brown eyes, half wanting to rush up to the main deck to catch her first glimpse of her new world, but also partly dreading it. She had had plenty of time during the uneventful journey across the Atlantic to contemplate her decision to leave the veil and go for a life of missionary work in the Caribbean after a plea from the Bishop. It was not a decision that Celia took lightly, but it was one that she took quickly for she had already begun to have doubts as to whether a cloistered life was really for her, having taken the veil after her betrothed jilted her a month before their wedding.

'_Robert_…' she thought sadly, having managed to more or less succeeded in not thinking about the love of her life during her enclosed time, but now she felt as if she was able to think freely once more and it un-nerved her.

'_Come on_,' Celia chided. '_The trunk won't pack itself_…' she busied herself once more, packing her meagre belongings into the small trunk and shutting the lid firmly, biting her lip with indecision as to whether to go on deck or not. "You've got to see it some time…" she said aloud, shrugging her shoulders and reaching for the door knob, opening it slowly.

"Ah, Miss Hammond, can I escort you to the deck?" the bosun, David Cook, enquired as he passed her door, stopping and backtracking on himself.

"Thank you, Mister Cook, that is kind of you." Celia hesitantly put her arm through his offered one and allowed herself to be lead to the main deck, gasping as the burning sun beat down on her.

"You might find that your woollen dress will be a mite too warm in these climes," the bosun chuckled kindly, taking in her long, grey dress with its full length sleeves. "I'm sure you will find more adequate clothing once ashore."

"I-I'm sure I will," Celia stammered, wondering if the paltry allowance that the church had given her to live on would stretch to 'adequate clothing'. She had not wanted to ask her family for more money, determined to make her own way, as the other former nuns were having to do.

"Isn't this exciting?"

Celia looked around, smiling as another girl bounded towards her with an eager grin on her face. "Yes, Beth, it is."

"You don't sound very sure. I mean, look at the beautiful sunshine for a start!"

Celia chuckled and shook her head at her friend's antics. She was another volunteer, along with six other girls from different convents, but Beth Ashby had latched onto Celia straight away and taken her under her wing for which Celia was extremely grateful. Although they were of a similar age, Beth was more worldly-wise than she, having joined her convent simply to ease the family finances, preferring that to a life of servitude. Celia had come from a well-to-do family and had gone from her sheltered home straight to the nunnery, with little experience of the outside world.

'_Whatever made me do this_?' she wondered, not for the first time. '_I don't have a clue what to do_.'

"How's abouts you and me stick together?" Beth suggested, as if she had read her friend's mind. "Be safer that way."

"Are you sure?" Celia replied. "I would prefer it, I must admit."

The two women fell silent as they looked out at the land looming large, marvelling at the vast stretch of sand and deep blue sea.

"It looks wonderful," Beth sighed, finally breaking the silence.

"That ain't it!" one of the crewmen laughed. "That's just Hog Island, Nassau Town is hidin' behind it."

"Do all the islands look like this?" Celia asked, dragging her eyes away from the seeming paradise. '_That's blasphemy_!' she chided, crossing herself. '_There's only one paradise_…'

"Nah, Miss," the crewman replied, looking oddly at her and wondering if she crossed herself every time she spoke to men. " Some islands are covered in trees an' shrubs an' suchlike. Some are practically bare rock – they're all different."

"Can't wait to see them all," Beth giggled.

"I really cannot imagine you in a convent," Celia smiled, correctly guessing that Beth's Mother Superior had her work cut out with the exuberant girl.

"Me neither, now," Beth laughed, threading her arm through her companions and hugging it to her. "I wonder what sort of life we'll have?"

"One of obedience and chastity…" Celia chided. "And saving the souls of the heathens and disadvantaged."

"Yes, yes, all that as well," Beth sighed, pouting at Celia's sternness. "Although _quite_ who we're supposed to obey, I have no idea."

"God?" Celia suggested sarcastically then immediately regretted her sharp tone when she looked at her friend's crestfallen face. "I'm sorry, Beth. I suppose I'm just a bit scared, that's all."

"The pirates can't be any worse than the drunkards when they left the taverns, back home," the small, dark haired woman reasoned.

"I wouldn't know," Celia confessed. "Our village never had a tavern, and Papa would not allow drink in the house."

"Gawd, you really _are_ a novice, eh?" Beth teased.

"Beth – don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Sorry," Beth apologised, although she wished that her friend would not be quite so serious. "Look, Celia… I don't think you're going to save many pirates if you don't loosen your corset, so to speak."

"I intend converting these soulless men in the name of God – I do not intend to be jovial about it."

"Well, I wish you luck," Beth sniped, taking her arm from Celia's. "You're going to need it."

Celia watched as Beth flounced off along the deck and stood with a couple of other girls, ooh-ing and arr-ing over the sights. '_Well done_!' she thought crossly to herself. '_Now you've upset Beth_.' She walked slowly over, hesitating as she reached the group of women, before standing with them. "I'm sorry, Beth," she apologised as she leaned on the ship's rail. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm sorry too," Beth replied, moving to stand next to her friend. "Maybe we're both a bit nervous, eh?"

The women gasped as the town of Nassau came into view, taking in the numerous buildings of the prosperous town, and the many ships in the harbour. If they had known that most of the said ships were pirate vessels, their excitement may have been tempered slightly, but they did not and so marvelled at the sight, chattering excitedly to one another, and pointing out things which caught their eye, until finally, their ship came to her berthing point and the crew released the anchors, slowing the _Serendipity_ to a stop.

"Johnny!" the bosun called. "Organise the ladies trunks to be brought up."

"Aye, Mister Cook," the deck hand deferred, hurrying to his task as his crewmates busied themselves with theirs, stowing the sails, making the _Serendipity_ ship-shape, and lowering the boats over the side.

"Come on, ladies. There's a boat waiting fer you," the bosun chivvied.

"Thank you for all of your help, Mister Cook," Celia smiled. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Miss Hammond, and good luck." '_You'll need it_,' he thought grimly to himself.

One by one, the former nuns and novices found themselves being lowered into a large ships boat via the bosun's chair, the luggage following after them, passed down from the deck, and four burly crewmen took up the oars once they were settled and started rowing them towards Nassau.

"I'm so excited I can barely contain myself," Beth giggled, wriggling on the bench she shared with Celia.

"Well if you don't contain yourself, you'll capsize the boat…" her friend remarked dryly.

"Oops, sorry!" the dark haired woman laughed.

"I wonder how we'll find Father Michael?" Jayne Browning, one of the other women, mused.

"Ask, I expect," Celia replied, subconsciously playing with her rosary beads the closer to the wharf they got. "I can't imagine there are too many Catholic priests in Nassau." She audibly gulped as the boat bumped against the docks, suddenly wishing that she had stayed with her convent in England. Celia waited until her friends had climbed from the boat then got to her feet, wobbling with the movement.

"Careful, Miss," the crewman nearest to her chuckled as he grabbed her arm. "Don't want ter be takin' a bath now, do we?"

"N-no," Celia stammered, trying to smile as she reached for a ladder on the dock wall, climbing onto it hesitantly.

"Come on," Beth teased. "It'll be nightfall by the time you reach here."

"Ha, ha!" Celia sniped, breathing a sigh of relief when she planted her feet on firm ground once more.

"Goodbye," Beth called to the men, as the group of women picked up their respective trunks and started off towards the town, laughing hysterically at their attempts to gain their land legs once more.

…

"So… you're the new recruits, hmm?" Father Michael looked the assembly before him up and down a few times, frowning. "A bit young, aren't you?"

"We have experience in helping the poor and destitute," Beth defended.

'_I don't_,' Celia thought to herself, trying to avoid the intense gaze of the priest.

"I'm sure you do," Father Michael nodded slowly. "But I doubt the poor and destitute you _helped_ would have raped or cut your throats without a second thought…" He sighed heavily as the young women gulped collectively. "Never mind – I'm sure we can find _some_ use for you all."

"T-thank you, Father," Celia stammered. "We will do our best before God."

"You will need all the help Our Father can give you," the priest replied sternly. "Brother Paul will show you where you are to sleep. I will see where I might send you in the morning."

"Thank you, Father," the women chorused before following their guide out of the priest's office and through the church, crossing a yard to a large house.

"Big enough, ain't it?" Beth commented, thinking that her priest back home did not have such luxurious surroundings.

"Father Michael arranges most of the missionaries that come over here," the young deacon informed her. "Therefore he needs to be able to put them up until he finds them passage to where they are to be sent."

"Pardon me," Beth replied ironically, pulling a face at his back.

"_Beth_!" Celia hissed. "Behave yourself."

"I hope we're not staying here long," her friend sighed. "A right miserable lot they are."

"It is a hard life," Brother Paul said sharply. "There is little to be joyous about…"

"Send me back home, please!" Beth replied acerbically.

"You will be wishing for that for real before long," the deacon told her as he opened the door to the house. "You are to cook and clean during your stay here and you will all share a room."

"Of course," Celia smiled, nudging Beth in the ribs lest she make another comment.

"How long will we stay for?" Jayne Browning enquired as she looked around the spartan hall.

"It varies. No longer than a month."

"Oh good…" Beth put in before Celia could silence her. "Are we allowed out to explore the town?"

"It is not advisable," Brother Michael told her. "Although this is _officially_ an English naval port, pirates have the run of the town."

"_What_?" Celia exploded in shock. "But I thought… how can they?"

"They most probably pay the Governor and Commodore of the Navy to turn a blind eye. The Admiralty have not supplied the Navy with many ships, so pirates patrol the waters instead."

"Doing the Navy's job for them?" Beth enquired.

"Yes," the deacon shrugged. "It is not ideal, but there's little we can do except make the best of it."

"Ah well, it's not like we're going to be here long, is it?" Beth reasoned, a cheerful smile on her face.

"No," the young man replied with a knowing smile. "It isn't… I'll leave you to find your own way around. The dormitory is on the first floor, third door on the left – and Father Michael likes supper around seven thirty."

"We'll see to it," Jayne assured him as he turned and headed for the front door.

"Thank ga… goodness he's gone," Beth sighed as he shut the door. "Come on, let's take our trunks upstairs then explore."

"Bags the bed by the window," Alice Johnson called as she and Beth raced for the stairs leaving the others trailing in their wake.

…

Celia looked up as she and Beth scrubbed the kitchen floor, scrambling to her feet as she saw Father Michael approaching them, hands behind his back.

"Father," she smiled, giving a little bob.

"I have some good news," he informed them, looking acerbically at Beth as she was slower to rise – _much_ slower. "I have found a ship heading for the Virgin Islands in the morning. I have booked you both on it."

"Great!" Beth beamed. "What is it like there?" she asked, eager to be gone from the strict and austere man, especially now there was just she and Celia left, the other women having being sent to various islands during the past two weeks.

"This is not a holiday for you," the priest snapped. "You are here to do the Lord's work."

"Yes, Father," Beth muttered sourly. "Sorry, Father."

"I wish you would not antagonise him," Celia sighed as the priest took his leave. "He's probably sent us to the worst hell-hole now."

"At least the atmosphere will be better than this place!"

"I wish I could have gone to town to buy some cotton dresses," Celia lamented. The group of women had planned on going into the town of Nassau, despite Brother Paul's warning, until a woman had been brutally raped and murdered the day after their arrival, some three weeks ago. So Celia had made do with the thick, woollen dresses she had brought from England, sweltering in the hot August sun.

"Maybe we can buy some when we reach the Virgin Islands?" her friend suggested.

"If I don't faint from the heat first!" Celia chuckled, kneeling back down and picking up the scrubbing stone, setting to her task once more.

…

**Three days later**

"Stow th'sails! Batten down th'hatches!"

Celia and Beth looked at each other in alarm as they heard the panic in the man's voice, even from the confines of their cabin, having been ordered there by the captain who feared that a storm was on the way. Now it seemed he was correct and even Beth's natural exuberance was dampened by fear. The two women clutched each other as the ship swayed violently, first one way, then the other, throwing them both to the floor.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" Beth swore, rubbing her head where she had bumped it against the bunk as she fell. "And don't you _dare_ tell me off for swearing!" she warned, glowering at her friend.

"I wasn't going to," Celia assured her. "In fact, I almost feel like swearing myself."

"We must be in trouble then," Beth joked, managing a weak smile. "Here, help us up…" She took Celia's hand once her friend was standing and gingerly got to her feet, wincing as her head throbbed.

They both shrieked as the ship pitched and groaned, sending them flying around the cabin and things that were not fastened down, flying around with them.

"Celia!" Beth screamed as water started to pour into the cabin through the ceiling and door, which had burst open.

"Come on," Celia urged, grabbing her friend's arm. "We have to leave the cabin…" She struggled through the rising water, keeping firm hold of the smaller woman as she fought her way through the corridor towards the steps.

"I can't!" Beth gasped, the water already reaching her waist. "You go on."

"_No_!" Celia declared. "I am not leaving you."

"I'll take her, Miss," a crewman said as he approached them, scooping Beth up in his arms and wading through the tide. "Will you be all right?" he called back.

"Fine," Celia assured him, grateful for being a good six inches taller than her friend. She caught her breath as the ship listed and more water poured through the hatch that her friend had just been taken through. "Beth!" she shrieked, striving to stay upright as the corridor was swamped. "Help!" Celia cried as she found herself being lifted and pushed against the low ceiling. "Help me…"

"It's all right, I've gotcha," a voice somewhere near her left ear announced, and Celia found herself being dragged along, hitting various parts of her body on the beams. "Up yer go." A hand shoved her up the steps of the hatch, which was awash with foamy, wild water, and Celia grabbed the rope rails, hoisting herself up until she found herself on the main deck.

"Thank yo…" she looked in bewilderment as she found no-one behind her, and prayed that her rescuer was safe. "Beth?" Celia yelled vainly, her voice lost in the wailing wind and thunderous seas. She gaped in horror as a huge wave came hurtling towards the ship and crashed down on it with its full force, all but snapping the vessel in two, sending Celia unconscious into the violent ocean.

…


	2. Chapter 2

Usual disclaimers – I don't even own the name of Celia Hammond. That belongs to a model who now does wonderful work in rescuing cats in and around London! 

Thank you for the reviews – it's great to see new names along with my old regulars! For those who don't know me – you will be here for the duration. I'm not the sort of author who leaves a story halfway through – and my stories tend to be on the long side! I've already typed 183 pages!

Any text that is within '_inverted commas and italics_,' is thought and not spoken word.

** > > > > > > >**

**Chapter Two **

"Debemos estar allí por anochecer."

"Si. Esperemos que la tempestad no nos golpee otra vez."

Strange voices pierced the fog that pervaded Celia's mind and she tried to wake up - even just open her eyes, but her eyes and mind refused to obey her commands and so she stayed in the muddled stupor, trying to work out why the voices were strange.

…

The sea thundered around her and Celia tried running away but everywhere she turned a wall of water faced her. She saw Beth standing on the deck and went to move towards her, screaming in horror as a huge wave took her friend up and carried her into the furious seas.

"_Beth_!" Celia gasped, waking from her nightmare, bathed in sweat. "Oh, sweet Mary," she panted, hugging a blanket to her, shivering as the memories came flooding back. "Oh, Beth," she sobbed, mourning the loss of her friend. Celia jumped as the door to the cabin she was in, opened, and a figure stood in the doorway. She squinted in the gloom, trying to make out who it was, but the only light came from behind the man and she could not even make out his features.

"W-who are you…?" she stammered, suddenly afraid for her safety. "Where am I?"

The man jabbered something unintelligible before turning and shutting the door behind himself, leaving her alone in the dark cabin once more.

Celia climbed from the cot she had been lying on and got to her knees, taking her rosary up in her hands as she pressed them together in prayer, looking around in fear as a soft knock sounded on the door and it opened once more. She scrambled to her feet, backing away as a large man came in, holding a lantern in one hand and a tray in the other.

"Aquí está algún alimento." He held the tray out towards her. "We will not hurt you," he said slowly in heavily accented English.

"Where am I?" she asked, taking the tray with shaking hands.

"Usted está tabla _Lirain_. Vamos a Tortuga."

"Please speak in English," Celia pleaded.

"No comprende," he shrugged. "No English…"

Celia sighed and plopped down on the bunk, careful not to upset the contents of the tray. "Thank you," she smiled, indicating the food and beaker.

The swarthy looking man returned the smile and nodded, hanging the lantern on a hook by the door before heading back out of the cabin.

Celia she tucked into the thick fish stew, drinking copious amounts of whatever was in the beaker to wash it down. She suspected it was alcohol of some description, but was too hungry and thirsty to care one way or the other. '_I'm sure The Lord will not mind this once_…'

She stood once she had finished, and carried the tray to the door, wondering if it would be wise to leave the cabin or not. Celia stood in indecision for a few minutes before setting the tray on the cabin deck and going back to the cot and sitting back down, looking around the tiny cabin she was holed up in and wondering once more where she was and what her rescuers were going to do with her.

'_Maybe there will be a priest wherever I am going and he can guide me as to what to do_,' she pondered. '_Assuming these men will release me unharmed. What if they are pirates_?' Celia got up again and paced to and fro nervously in her bare feet, her shoes obviously having been lost when she was swept into the ocean. She ran her hands through her short, knotted hair in agitation. '_No, they would not be treating me this well if they were_ – _I hope_…' Celia lay back down on the cot, her minding whirring over the many possibilities as to what could happen to her, until tiredness finally took hold and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

** > > > > > > >**

"Hemos llegado. Hemos llegado…"

Celia woke with a start, staring with wide eyes at the man who had brought her the food the previous evening, as he shook her awake. "What?" she asked, rubbing her tired, itchy eyes. "I do not undertand you."

"Hemos llegado a Tortuga!" he urged, indicating for her to stand. "Le llevaré a pueblo." He led her from the cabin once she had risen from the cot, and up a flight of steps to the main deck of the large boat.

Celia blinked in the strong sunlight, catching herself as she almost fell over a basket laden with exotic fruits, one of many covering the deck of the _Lirain_. Her rescuers had obviously come to sell their wares at wherever they had brought her. She followed the man to the boat's side and peered over at a small rowing boat, bobbing up and down in the waves.

"You want me to climb down?" she enquired, pointing to herself and then the boat.

"Si, si," the man nodded vigorously, climbing down and holding the boat steady for her.

"Oh dear," Celia sighed, wondering how on earth she was going to do it and preserve her dignity at the same time. She hitched her tattered, matted dress up around her knees and climbed awkwardly over the side, one hand grabbing the rope, the other clinging to her skirts for dear life. She half fell, half slid down the rope, ending in a heap in the boat, which pitched violently in the water, only saved from capsizing by the burly man shifting his weight to steady the boat.

"Ow!" Celia complained, wincing at the rope burn stinging her hand. She settled on a bench quickly as the man took up the oars and started stroking them through the water, and blew on her raw hand to try and ease the burning. Celia turned to look at her destination, gulping as a large, shabby town loomed large. '_This doesn't look very salubrious_,' she thought to herself, biting her lip and trying to quell the unease churning in her stomach.

"Tortuga," the man smiled, indicating at the town. "Tortuga," he repeated, trying to make her understand.

"Tortuga," Celia nodded. "Priest?" she enquired, lifting her rosary beads from within her dress to show him what she wanted.

"Priest?" the man laughed, throwing his head back. "No priest in Tortuga," he chuckled in heavy English.

"Oh," she whispered fearfully and gulping hard. '_No priest_? _What am I going to do_?' Celia jumped as the boat knocked against the quayside and looked back at the man, tears springing to her eyes. "Please help me," she pleaded, hoping her understood enough English to know what she was saying, but he merely looked at her then nodded towards a stevedor who was reaching down to help her from the boat, then finding herself being hoisted from the rowing boat and set on the bustling wharf before she had chance to realise what was happening. Celia turned to protest, say something to her rescuer, but he was already rowing back to his vessel, and the stevedor had busied himself unloading crates of fish from another boat.

Celia turned in a daze towards a hill, which lead to the centre of the town, and started walking up it slowly, her mind too numbed to think about where she was going or what she was doing. She was broken from her reverie by a gruff voice behind her and coarse hands grabbing her arm and spinning her around.

"I said, how abouts it, darlin'?"

Celia flinched as a mean, scarred face pushed into hers, glassy eyes leering at her. "Oh! Leave me alone!" she hissed, trying to pull free of his grasp. "I am not _that_ sort…"

The man roared with laughter and pushed her against a wall, pressing himself against her. "Of course yer are," he snarled, licking her cheek. "They all are in Tortuga, sweetheart."

"Well I'm not one of them," she shuddered with revulsion. Now let me go!" Celia gasped as his mouth closed over hers, his tongue probing deep within it, and she fought down the urge to be sick. Without thinking, she bit down hard and pushed him away with all of her strength and ran back down towards the docks for all she was worth.

"Come 'ere, ya fuckin' whore!" he roared, racing after her.

"Help!" Celia shrieked as he closed the gap between them. "Somebody help me, please!"

"There's no-one here that'll help ya," he taunted as he lunged for her once again, cursing as Celia somehow managed to dodge out of his grasp. "I'll teach yer t'bite me, ya slapper."

Celia gasped as she ran around a corner and headlong into a group of women, all with painted white faces and scarlet lips. "Help?" she pleaded, before running again as she heard him follow her.

"Aw gawd, looks like Frankie's got another _willin_' girl," one of the women cackled. "Go on, girl," she called. "Wear 'im out first then he might not knock yer about so much!"

'_Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, help me_,' Celia prayed as she ran, sending up thanks as she spotted a large boat, covered with sailcloth, beached on shingle just ahead of her. She looked around, relieved not to see her persuer behind her, and dived into the boat, hastily covering herself and crouching as still as she could, hardly daring to even breathe as his footsteps got closer and closer, until they started fading as he passed the boat and continued on his way, shouting and cursing as he went.

Celia stayed where she was for what felt like hours, trying hard to ignore the throbbing pain in her hand and cold fear coursing through her body, before finally plucking up enough courage to peer out from beneath the sailcloth, almost sobbing with relief when she saw that there was nobody about. She climbed from her hiding place and brushed her dirty, torn dress down out of habit and looked around, wondering where would be the safest place for her to go. "Not the town, that's for certain," she muttered aloud, recoiling as a group of men appeared from one of the dockside taverns. Celia darted into an alleyway that was dark and dank even though it was the middle of the day, shrinking into the shadows as they passed and decided that perhaps it might be the safest place for her – just until she stilled her pounding heart somewhat.

'_No priest_,' she thought sorrowfully. '_Whatever am I going to do_?' Celia froze as she heard voices turn into the alley and flattened herself against the wall as much as she could, holding her breath and closing her eyes, only relaxing slightly as she realised they were women's voices.

"'Ere, it's that girl Frankie Tyler was chasin'. Yer lose him, did ya, dearie?"

"Y-yes," Celia stammered, opening her eyes and looking at the two women, one blonde, the other a redhead. "But you don't understand… I-I'm not…" she paused, struggling for the right words. "I'm not one of you," she whispered before bursting into tears.

"Gawd, what's up wi'yer, then?" the blonde enquired, glancing at her companion.

"'Ere, it's all right," the other woman consoled, putting her arm around Celia's shoulders. "Did 'e give yer a fright?"

"I'm not supposed to be here," Celia sobbed as she leaned against the whore's shoulder.

"None of are," the blonde giggled.

"Give over, Giselle. Can't yer see she's upset? Come on, dearie – yer look like yer could do with a drink." The red haired woman started off down the alley, still with her arm around Celia's shoulder.

"I-I don't drink," she stuttered, chewing on her lip with fear.

"Yer definitely ain't one of us then," Giselle teased.

"If yer don't button it, I'll bleedin' clock yer, Giselle, an' don't think I won't."

"Ooh, pardon me," her friend sniped, pulling a face at her. "What's yer name anyway?" she asked Celia.

"Celia Hammond," came the shaky reply. "I was supposed to become a missionary on the Virgin Isles, but our ship got caught in a storm and sank," she told them, her voice catching on the last word. "I lost my friend and all of my belongings."

"Bloody 'ell! Yer've had a rum do an' no mistake. Aggie Brown," the red haired whore smiled, offering her hand, which Celia shook.

"T-thank you, Aggie."

"Ah, don't thank me. Us girls have got ter look out fer each other, even if yer ain't _one of us_," she teased gently.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you…"

"Gawd, it'd take more than th'likes of yer ter offend us, eh, Giselle?"

"Hmm," the blonde shrugged non-committally.

"Here we are," Aggie annouced as she stopped by what Celia would have sworn was an empty, run-down house. "It ain't Penhallick's mansion, but it does us."

"I'm sure it does," Celia replied timidly as she followed Aggie and Giselle into the house, hoping desperately that her distaste did not show on her face as she took in the stale and rotting food on the table and clothes strewn all over the floor and on the two beds that were pushed against opposite walls.

"I bet yer place never looked untidy," Giselle sniped having caught the look in the young woman's eyes.

"My room had to be tidy or Mother Superior would have been angry."

"Mother Superior?" Aggie echoed. "Yer a nun?"

"Was - a novice," Celia smiled sadly. "I left the veil to become a missionary over here."

"Why did yer leave?" the redhead asked kindly.

"I didn't think I was cut out for the life of a nun," Celia explained. "I thought I would do more good over here, but now it looks as though I won't have a chance to."

"Why not?" Giselle asked, interested in spite herself.

"We… that is my friend Beth and I, were supposed to go to the Virgin Isles. But as I told you, I have lost everything. I have no clothes, no money – nothing," she replied, choking on her words.

"Aw - yer go an' rustle us up some food, Giselle, an' I'll sort through me old clothes. I must have somethin' that'd fit ya."

"I couldn't possibly…" Celia began.

"Call it a loan if yer like, just until yer sort yourself out."

"And how am I supposed to do that? I'm not going to… well, you know."

"There's many men in this Godforsaken place who'd pay good money fer yer virtue," Giselle informed her as she coaxed the small fire into life in order to cook on it.

"My virtue is not for sale!" Celia declared. "No matter how desperate I may become."

"There's always bar work or Mister Penhallick's mansion," Aggie informed her newfound friend as she rummaged through a chest at the foot of her bed, adding more clothes to the pile already on the floor. "From what I hear, Edith Chappell has got up th'duff an' his lordship is none too pleased about it, so 'e might be lookin' fer a reliable girl ter work fer him."

"His lordship?" Celia enquired.

"King of Tortuga 'e reckons 'e is," Giselle chuckled. "I remember when he were nought but a cabin boy."

"Gawd, yer showin' yer age there, Giselle!" Aggie laughed.

"But I haven't come all this way to work," Celia protested.

"Yer said it yerself," Giselle put in. "Ya've got no money an' no clothes – yer don't have much choice but ter work. I ain't keepin' ya."

"I don't expect you to," Celia replied angrily.

"I tell yer what, Jargo will probably pay me a vist tonight," Aggie pondered. "I'll ask him if there's anythin' goin' up at th'mansion, eh?"

"Thank you," Celia smiled. "You are very kind to a complete stranger."

"Yer'd probably do th'same fer me," Aggie shrugged. "This should do ya!" she declared, holding up a dark blue, sleeveless cotton dress. "Try it on."

"All right." Celia struggled out of her tatty grey dress and reached for the one Aggie was holding, pulling it over her head and tying the laces at the front of the garment.

"It's a bit low, isn't it?" she worried, peering down at the low neckline, grateful for the lace at the top of her undershift, which saved her from being positively indecent.

"All I got that'll fit ya," Aggie shrugged.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," Celia apologised. "Thank you – I'll take good care of it."

"Yeah, yer would," Giselle muttered beneath her breath as she stirred the stew in the cauldron suspended over the fire.

"Oi! Shut yer mouth, yer cow!" Aggie warned. "Yer only jealous 'cos she's younger an' prettier than yer!"

Giselle ignored her friend's comments and concentrated on the broth, bashing the scant few lumps of meat with the wooden spoon in her irritation.

"I don't want to cause trouble," Celia said quietly. "I don't mean to impose."

"We're always arguin' over somethin' or other," Aggie assured her. "An' fer th'last time, yer not imposin'. Now sit yerself down an' tell us all about Celia Hammond…"

** > > > > > > >**

Oops! Forgot Jack again! ;)

Translations is order that they appear in the chapter:

Debemos estar allí por anochecer - We should be there by nightfall

Si. Esperemos que la tempestad no nos golpee otra vez - yes. let us hope the storm does not hit us again.

Aquí está algún alimento - here is some food

Usted está tabla _Lirain_ - you are on board _Lirain_

Vamos a Tortuga - we are going to Tortuga

Hemos llegado – we have arrived

Le llevaré a pueblo - I will take you to town

Do not blame me if the translations are wrong – I rely on a translation site!


	3. Chapter 3

Usual disclaimers – pah!

Many thanks to all those who have taken the trouble to review – feedback is always welcomed, as is constructive critisism.

**Chapter Three**

"Celia! Wake up!"

Celia's eyes shot open and she looked around in panic, not knowing where she was for a few moments until her eyes focused and she found Aggie hovering over her, an excited grin on her face. "What?" she mumbled, rubbing her bleary eyes. If it were not for the fact that she could see sunlight streaming through the threadbare curtains hanging at the window, she would have sworn she had only just settled off to sleep.

"Mister Penhallick will see yer this morning," Aggie announced, jumping up and down with glee.

"And that is good?" Celia wondered, having second thoughts about wanting to work for a man who proclaimed himself a king, and of pirates to boot.

"Of course it's bloody good!" came Giselle's voice from somewhere within the room. "He don't see just anybody."

"Jargo said that he was impressed with th'fact that yer were a nun, an' that he wanted ter see yer personally."

"Who is this Jargo?" Celia enquired as she sat up in the rickety bed of Aggie's, which she had slept in whilst the two women were working.

"Mister Penhallick's right-hand man," Aggie told her. "I'm his favourite girl," she beamed, twirling around, laughing.

"So move," Giselle urged. "It don't do ter keep Mister Penhallick waitin'."

"_Now_?"

"Yes, now," the blonde whore sighed. "So get yerself dressed an' decent, then we'll take yer up to th'mansion."

Celia scrambled from the bed, reaching for the blue cotton dress that Aggie had lent her, and pulled it on over her undershift which she had slept in. She hastily tied the laces at the front of the dress and ran her fingers through her short, matted hair, wincing as she encountered knot after knot.

"I don't suppose you have a comb that I could borrow?" she asked.

"Yer look fine," Aggie lied. "Come on, he's a busy man."

Celia found herself bundled out of the house and down the narrow street, turning left into another, wider street and carrying on alongside a stream for a time before turning right and heading up the hill, towards a large house, which dominated it. "He lives_ there_?" she gulped, wishing more than ever that she looked presentable, or at least had a chance to clean and comb her hair and perhaps find some shoes to wear, but at least the loaned dress was long enough to cover her bare feet. "What's it like inside?"

"Dunno, never been in - but from I hear, it's a palace!" Aggie declared. "Yer'll be able ter tell us all about it."

"If he employs me," Celia reminded her.

"Course he will. He likes pretty girls workin' fer him."

"Ah, but Syndony might object," Giselle put in with a knowing wink.

"Syndony?" Celia looked from Giselle to Aggie, feeling even more uneasy.

"Mister Penhallick's woman. She runs a brothel th'other side of town. Too posh fer th'likes of us," Aggie shrugged.

"A b-brothel" Celia gaped, her eyes agog. "L-look… I'm not sure this is a good idea." She stopped and went to turn but found two pairs of hands stopping her.

"It's this or bar work," Giselle reminded her. "Unless yer virtue's up fer sale yet?"

"No!" Celia stated firmly. "Never."

"Well, in yer go then," Aggie chuckled, giving her a none too gentle shove through the wrought iron gates. "Th'servant's entrance is around that way," she told her, pointing to the side of the house.

"You're not coming with me?" Celia worried, looking at her friends. "I-I can't go on my own…"

"Course yer can, now go!"

Celia took a deep breath and turned back to face the house, then walked resolutely along the path that led around the back of the mansion. She stopped by what she hoped was the servants entrance and knocked timidly on the door, jumping in surprise as it opened almost immediately.

"Miss Hammond?" a thin, reedy man enquired, looking her up and down with something akin to distaste. "Follow me."

Celia stepped inside, biting her lip in an attempt to steady her nerves but failed miserably and she felt herself start to shake with fear. She was lead up a short flight of stairs and along a narrow passageway which took them to a square hallway, dominated by a large chandelier. The man stopped by an oak panelled door and rapped sharply, entering when beckoned.

"Miss Hammond, Sir," he announced, moving so that Celia could enter the room.

"Thank you, Alec. Some refreshments for Miss Hammond?"

"I shall see to it, Sir." Alec nodded curtly and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Hammond," Ethan Penhallick smiled. "Please, take a seat."

Celia bristled at his mock humility but wisely said nothing. She moved carefully to the chair which he had indicated, glancing at him, taking in his powerful build, his jet black hair, tied in a sailor's plait and his fine, well made clothes. Everything about him screamed wealth but nothing indictated taste, at least not to Celia's mind.

"I gather you require work?" he said, sitting opposite her. "Do you have experience in service?"

"Not the kind of service you mean, no," she replied, her instant dislike of the man giving her a smidgen of courage. "I can clean well enough, surely that is all that is required of me?"

"Indeed it is," he grinned. From what Jargo Teague had told him, he had been expected a timid little mouse. The woman before him showed no signs of being afraid, even though experience told him that she was. "But I would expect you to be a little more presentable than you are at present."

Celia glowered but was unable to answer as Alec returned with a tray containing a teapot and two china cups and saucers, plus a plate full of small cakes. She waited patiently as the butler poured the tea and offered her a cake, which she refused, and she sipped her tea as he left her and the so-called pirate king alone once more.

"Mister Penhallick," she retorted, her voice icy. "A few days ago I was shipwrecked. Not only did I lose a good friend, I lost all of my belongings and what paltry amount of money I had. I was brought here yesterday and dumped by my rescuer and if it had not been for the kindness of Aggie and Giselle, I dread to think what state I would be in now. So I apologise if my appearance repels you." She got to her feet, slamming the cup and saucer back on the tray and made for the door.

"Miss Hammond! It's me who should be apologising," Ethan Penhallick smiled ruefully. "I wasn't fully aware of your unfortunate circumstances. Please, sit back down."

"Is there any point?" she sniped, remaining where she was by the door.

"Well you'll need to know what work is expected of you, and what hours you will be required to work…"

"You mean, you're offering me the job?" she gasped. "After what I said…?"

"Maybe partly _because_ of what you said," he chuckled. "I do like a woman with a bit of spirit. But show your spirit whilst you're working here, and I'll have your guts for garters, understood?"

"Yes, Mister Penhallick," Celia deferred, moving back to the chair. "Thank you."

"In fact, it might be a good idea if I allow you an advance on your wages. I can't have a servant of mine looking worse than the whores on the streets, can I?"

"Indeed not, Sir," Celia smiled, although the smile did not reach her eyes. "When would you like me to start?"

"Tomorrow," he informed her. "I expect you here at six, all right?"

"Fine, Sir," she shrugged. Having spent the last three years of her life waking at half past five for Matins, she knew she would have no problem at starting work that early.

"Right, well here's two shillings in advance and see my housekeeper about your uniform." Ethan Penhallick handed her the coins, then rang a handbell and waited a few moments for the bulter to re-appear. "Alec. Take Celia to Mistress Carson, would you and then show her out. See you tomorrow, Celia."

"Yes, goodbye, Mister Penhallick, and thank you again."

…

**Two months later**

(November)

Celia looked around with exasperation at the motley gathering in the dilapidated church on the edge of town. In the absence of a priest, she had taken it upon herself to hold a service of sorts, twice on a Sunday in an attempt to convert the heathen pirates and whores of the town, but she rarely got more than a handful of people and they mostly consisted of Aggie and a couple of other girls with whom she had become friendly. But today she had a few more men than was usual - largely, she suspected, because they had run out of money for a room in one of the taverns and it was pouring down with rain outside and they sought shelter.

"Please," she called, clapping her hands together to try and quieten the noise down. "If we could all hold hands in prayer…"

"I'll give yer somethin' ter hold, darlin'!" one of the pirates laughed, reaching for the laces of his breeches.

"She ain't got lookin' glasses," Scarlett taunted. "So 'ow d'yer expect her ter see anythin'?"

"I didn't hear yer complain th'other night, round th'back of th'Bride," the pirate snarled. "Couldn't have enough of it."

"Couldn't have enough of it?" she mocked. "I was bored out me skull – couldn't wait fer ya ter finish humpin' me so I could take yer coin."

"Yer little bitch!" the man roared, launching himself towards her.

"Please!" Celia begged. "Not in church!" She yelped and leapt backwards as the other men joined in the brawl, sending the alter table flying.

"Come on," Aggie urged, grabbing Celia by the arm and dragging her to the back door of the church.

"But…"

"No buts. Once they start fightin' they don't care who's in th'way, an' men usually want a good screw after a good fight."

"Screw?" Celia wondered, gasping as they stepped outside and got soaked through immediately.

"Fuck, shag, screw – whatever yer want ter call it," Aggie explained."

"Oh!" Celia found herself blushing in spite of the rather coarse education she had received since arriving in Tortuga. She drew the line at remaining in the house when Aggie and Giselle brought men back with them and had spent many an hour wandering a small beach at the end of the docks, careful not to bring attention to herself – the last thing she wanted or needed was trouble.

"Will yer stop daydreamin' an' hurry up?" Aggie complained, pulling her arm, desperate to get out of the pounding rain.

"What's the point of rushing? We're already soaking wet," Celia reasoned. "Running home won't ensure us being any drier."

"Got a bleedin' answer fer everythin', you!" Aggie complained without malice.

"Anyway, I have to go to the mansion later, so I might as well head there now and dry out by cook's fire. She won't mind."

"Huh! S'all right fer some. See yer later then." Aggie hared off down the hill, determined to reach home as quickly as possible, while Celia went in the opposite direction, towards the large mansion sitting on top of the hill, overlooking the town and harbour of Tortuga.

"Goodness, Sarah," Celia gasped as she walked into the kitchen. "You can barely see in front of your eyes, it's coming down that hard."

"Gawd, look at you!" the cook exclaimed. "Sit yerself by th'fire and dry out. Th'master won't be very pleased if yer drip water all over his silk rugs. Come all th'way from China, they do!"

"Yes, cook," Celia replied automatically, having heard the same thing countless times since starting work for Ethan Penhallick.

"Oh gawd," Sarah sighed heavily as a servants bell rang out. "Where's that bloody Judith? Would yer see to that for me, love?"

"But I'm wet and I haven't changed into my uniform yet!" Celia protested. "What about the silk rugs?"

"Quick, or th'master'll be displeased. Just don't step on them, eh?"

Celia muttered under her breath but hastened out of the warm kitchen and up the stairs, glancing at which bell was ringing but not being surprised to find it was the master bedroom. Syndony Chester rarely surfaced before mid-day, but when she did she liked the whole house scurrying around after her. Celia hurried along the corridor towards the hall, intent on reaching her destination before Miss Chester threw one of her infamous tantrums.

"Watch yerself, missy!" growled a voice as she cannoned into someone, and Celia found herself staring into dark brown eyes, curiously rimmed with black.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, her face reddening as she tried in vain to break eye contact with the man. "Excuse me…"

"S'all right, Cee. I've got it," came Judith's voice from upstairs.

"Cee?" the man drawled. "Strange name, that." His eyes shifted from her face to where her wet blouse clung to her body, outlining every curve. His lips curled into a smirk as he caught her eyes once more.

"C-Celia," she gulped, pulling her blouse so it did not stick to her, finally dragging her gaze from his eyes and taking in his strange, braided hair and curious clothes.

"Ah, pretty name," he complimented. "Ter go with a pretty face…"

"Leave my staff alone, you incorrigible rouge," Ethan Penhallick retorted with a grin as he crossed the hall. "And go and change, girl. What are you doing wandering around in that state?"

"Sorry, Sir," Celia apologised, backing away towards the corridor before turning tail and hurrying off, her cheeks still burning with mortification.

"Surprised Syn lets yer have a maid _that_ attractive."

"She's pure as th'driven snow, Jack," Ethan laughed. "Was a nun before she came out here."

"A _nun_? Well, well, well..."

"Yer'd best join the queue. There's a long line of men wantin' ter pick her cherry."

"You included?"

"Aye, but don't tell Syndony that!" Penhallick laughed. "Now Captain Sparrow, I believe we have some business to conduct."

"Indeed we do," Jack agreed, following his host into the study, wondering if he would have a chance to see the maid again before he left.

…

"Are you all right, Celia?" Sarah, the cook, enquired as the young girl careered into the kitchen looking flushed and flustered.

"F-fine," she gulped. "I'll go and change…" Celia hurried to a small room where the uniforms were kept and peeled her still wringing wet clothes off, dumping them in a heap on the floor, shaking her head to try and rid herself of the image of the man's eyes boring into her with little success. '_Stop being silly_,' she chided, cross with herself for allowing him to embarrass her. '_He's probably a pirate._' Celia dried her short hair as best she could with a rag and picked up her wet clothes, carrying them to the fireplace in the kitchen and draping them over a chair to dry.

"Take this tray to Mister Penhallick, there's a love," Sarah said as the younger woman re-appeared.

"Oh… of course." Celia managed to force a smile as she picked up the tea tray and carried it to the study, hoping she would not spill anything. '_Why would you_?' she thought, cross that she was allowing whoever the man was, to affect her so. '_You haven't spilled anything yet_.' She balanced the tray carefully and knocked on the door, taking a deep breath before entering the room.

"Ah, Celia," Ethan Penhallick smiled. "Put it on the side table."

"Of course," she deferred, licking her dry lips with an equally dry tongue. She felt the other man's eyes following her as she moved across the room and set the silver tray down. "Shall I pour?" she asked, hoping her employer would say no.

"Yes, please," came the reply she did not want to hear, and Celia busied herself pouring tea into two china cups. '_Don't spill it_,' she worried as she picked up the tray and carried it first to Penhallick and then his guest who was watching her with merriment dancing in his eyes.

"Thank you, Celia," he smiled, bowing his head.

"I-it's a pleasure, Sir," she managed to reply, wishing he would hurry up and take some of the biscuits that were on offer.

"I understand you're a religious lass?" he enquired, finally taking a plate and two biscuits, his eyes never leaving her face. "Not much call fer religion in Tortuga."

"No…"

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he grinned, showing off at least two gold teeth that Celia could see.

"N-no, Captain Sparrow," she replied. "Excuse me…"

"Of course, luv. Can't keep you from your duties, eh?"

"Thank you," Celia bobbed, nodding at Penhallick before hastening from the room, her heart pounding harder than it had been earlier.

"That bleedin' cow has got one on her this morning," Judith hissed as Celia met up with her in the hallway. "Threw th'bloody hairbrush at me!"

"Shhh!" Celia warned. "Someone will hear you one day."

"I hope they do – give me an excuse ter say it to her pretty painted face!" Judith Pinkney looked at her friend and colleague curiously. "You all right?"

"Fine!" Celia replied, a little too breezily. "Everything's fine."

"Good," Judith replied, unconvinced. "Come on, or cook will send out a search party fer us." The two women linked arms and made their way to the kitchen, where they helped Sarah prepare dinner, Celia being grateful that she at least did not have to serve it.

…

Happy now? ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Usual disclaimers…

Thank you for the reviews. Ducky – no, I won't be updating every week-end as before. You'll get each chapter when you get it – sorry, folks!

This follows on from the same night as the previous chapter.

…

**Chapter Four**

"Go on, dearie. You go home – you've already done enough covering for Margaret," Sarah, the cook smiled kindly. "At least that rain has stopped."

"Are you sure?" Celia asked. "Thank you, I could do with a rest before evening service tonight."

"Dunno why you bother," Judith, the other serving wench remarked. "Even those who are churchgoers don't go."

"It's what I came over to the Caribbean for," Celia shrugged. "I might as well try and convert the disbelievers here as anywhere else. See you tomorrow!"

"Bye, love. You take care of them pirates!"

"I will, Sarah," she chuckled headed out of the back door, her now dry clothes wrapped up in a sack, for she intended washing her unifrom that night.

…

"Why are we doing this?" Matthias Swain grumbled as he and some of his crewmates followed their captain through the town and towards the ramshackle church.

"Because yer need to learn stuff like God an' th'devil – heaven an' hell," Jack Sparrow informed him, his arms wide and his hands dancing and weaving as he spoke. "You're always sayin' that I'm a good captain, teachin' you stuff – well this is part of yer education, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Gabriel Jennings replied without conviction. "But surely Mister Gibbs could've taught us about them things?"

"That he could," Jack agreed, nodding vigorously at his crewman. "But it's best learned from a _real_ religious person, an' that's why we're goin' ter evening service."

Celia closed her prayer book, sighing heavily. It was not the first time she had waited alone in the church for someone – _anyone_, to attend, and she reasoned that no-one would be turning up now. She started down the aisle, checking as she heard voices outside, then moved backwards, towards the alter table which she had righted when she arrived earlier that evening. Her heart almost stopped as the door creaked open and the voices ceased.

"W-welcome to God's house," she stammered, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

"It's a pleasure ter be here," came a now familiar drawl.

"C-Captain Sparrow!" she gulped, blushing deeply as the pirate captain and three other men entered the church. "W-what are y-you doing here?"

"Come fer evening service," he replied, slurring his words. "Besides, you look a bit lonesome…"

"No wonder he was so eager ter come," quipped Matthias, nudging the man next to him as they looked at the blonde woman standing at the top of the aisle, obviously curvaceous despite her shapeless dress.

"I-I was just leaving," Celia stammered, still backing away. "It will soon be too dark to be walking back home on my own."

"So it will," Jack agreed, advancing on her. "A pretty young thing like you shouldn't be on her own anyway, eh?"

"Perhaps you can come another week?" she suggested, ignoring the implication of his words as she felt her way around the table.

"Ah," Jack sighed ruefully. "I don't think we'll be here next week. I tell you what, how about we walk yer home after th'service, eh?"

"Pardon?"

"No-one in this town dares cross th'captain an' crew of th'_Black Pearl_, eh, men?"

"Nah," his crew chorused proudly, puffing out their chests.

"B-but…"

"We've walked all this way," Jack pouted theatrically, looking at her beneath his lashes. "You're not goin' ter turn us away, are you?"

"Of course not," Celia sighed, standing behind the alter table and opening her prayer book, watching as the strange captain and his men sat on the only pew still intact.

"_My Heavenly Father, I thank You through Jesus Christ, Your_

_beloved Son, that You have protected me by Your grace. _

_Forgive, I pray, all my sins and the evil I have done. Protect me, by Your_

_grace tonight. _

_I put myself in your care, body and soul and all that I have. Let Your holy angels be with me so that the evil enemy will not gain power over me. _

_Amen_"

"Amen," the men chorused.

"That was beautiful," Jack slurred. "You have such a lovely voice."

"Gawd, yer layin' it on a bit thick, Cap'n," John Orchard whispered into his captain's ear.

"Am I?" Jack wondered, pressing his finger to his lips as he thought. "Y'reckon I should ease off a little?"

"Just a tad…" Gabriel Jennings advised. "She looks ready ter bolt out th'back door."

"Do you wish me to continue?" Celia asked acerbically. "I would have thought you could chat amongst yourselves in the tavern…"

"Sorry, luv. Forgive my crew their manners."

"_Our_ manners?" John hissed. "That's rich…"

"You havin' a go at me, Orchard?" Jack growled, turning to glare at him.

"No, Cap'n, sorry…"

"Carry on, luv," Jack smiled graciously. "We won't interrupt any more."

Celia jumped as a loud bang sounded close by and she looked anxiously at the door.

"Jennings, Swain, check that out," their captain ordered. "It's all right, luv," he assured Celia. "Probably just some idiot who can't handle his pistol, eh?"

"Captain Sparrow… I may be naïve but I am not stupid. That was quite clearly _not_ a pistol shot," Celia replied acidly.

"I was just tryin' ter reassure you," Jack muttered darkly, turning to look as his two crewmen came back into the church.

"Looks like th'feud between Ezra Barrentine an' Simon Marlow has started up again – in a _big_ way!" Gabriel Jennings informed him. "Th'Dirty Duck is up in flames…"

"Bloody hell," Jack sighed. "Why can't those two just kill each an' be done with?"

"Do you mind not talking that way in God's house? I really cannot understand why you came here at all," Celia retorted. "It's patently obvious that you are not interested in the service. How did you know about it anyway?"

"Ethan mentioned it, in passing," Jack chuckled. "Thought I'd come an' give my crew an education in religion."

"Hmpf! I'm sure you did. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going home."

"Not alone, yer not, missy," Jack declared. "Not if those two fools are battling it out."

"And will I be safer with your escort?" she sniped, looking Jack up and down with distaste.

"I never hurt women, an' my crew know that if they hurt a woman they'd have me ter deal with," Jack told her seriously, all trace of slurred speech gone.

"Oh. I-I…" Another loud bang made Celia's jump again and she found herself being escorted out of the back door of the church by the four men, all with their swords drawn. "Is it likely to be dangerous?" she asked a little fearfully. Although there had been fights in the town since she had arrived, this was the closest she had been to one and it scared her.

"Not if we keep to th'back alleys," John Orchard told her. "Where d'yer live, anyway?"

"With Aggie and Giselle."

"_What_?" Jack exclaimed, looking at her incredulously. "You live with a couple of whores?"

"Those whores rescued me and looked after me," she defended. "There's nothing wrong with them, only what they do for a living."

"Hey! I wasn't critising," Jack replied, holding his hands out in mock surrender and nearly hitting Gabriel with his sword.

"Didn't know ya cared, Cap'n," the crewman grumbled, dodging out of the way.

"How did you know who the fight was between?" Celia wondered as they walked down a narrow street, which lead to the stream that meandered through the town.

"Th'Dirty Duck is th'drinkin' hole of Ezra Barrentine. We saw Simon Marlow headin' that way when we were comin' to th'church. It doesn't take many brains to put two an' two together - even Swain managed it!" Jack chuckled. "Y'know, it really isn't that safe for you to be out alone at night – or even in th'day, come to that."

"I know," Celia sighed. "I've already had this from everyone I know."

"So why d'ya do it, then?" Gabriel enquired. "Yer obviously don't have many people attendin' yer services."

"It's what I'm here to do," she shrugged. "Convert heathens to God."

"A thankless task here, then," Jack sympathised. "Can't understand why th'church sent a young slip of a girl to the most notorious pirate town in th'Caribbean."

"They didn't," Celia sighed ruefully. "I was meant to go to the Virgin Isles with a friend, but our ship hit a storm and sank – I ended up here."

"Maybe it was meant to be, eh?" Jack suggested, looking meaningfully into her eyes. "They say God works in mysterious ways."

"Hmm," she replied unconvincingly, edging away as he moved closer to her.

The group looked around as the sound of rioting increased and Celia clutched her rosary beads, working them as she prayed silently.

"Looks like tonight might be th'night one of them _does_ finally get it," Matthias Swain remarked. "Ain't been a fight this bad fer a while."

"True," Jack agreed, glancing at the young girl he and his men were escorting. "You all right, Celia?"

"F-fine," she whispered, wishing she were anywhere but this hellhole of a town.

"Soon be home, eh?"

"Not that that is likely to be any safer," she shuddered. "I hope Aggie and Giselle are all right."

"They can look after themselves, believe me - especially Giselle," Jack commented dryly, having felt the sting of her slap on more than one occasion. "They'll run as far away from trouble as quickly as they can, savvy?"

"I know," Celia sighed as they reached the house. "Well, thank you for your escort," she smiled.

"You sure you don't want me ter keep you company until th'girls return?" Jack enquired hopefully.

"_No_! No, I'll be fine," Celia assured him. Thank you again, Captain Sparrow."

"Goodnight, Miss Hammond," he sighed ruefully. "Sweet dreams, luv."

…

**The following day**

"Jack! To what do I owe this pleasure?" Ethan Penhallick looked up from where he and Syndony Chester were lying on a blanket beneath a tree in the gardens of his mansion.

"Sorry, I didn't mean ter interrupt," Jack apologised, shrugging his shoulders ruefully at his friend's companion, who glared angrily at him. Jack could not understand Ethan's attraction to Syndony – she was good looking, that was plain to see, but she was too sharp tongued for Jack's liking, and he could not remember ever having seen her smile. "I have a proposition for you," he told Penhallick.

"I'm all ears," the pirate king grinned, sitting up and taking more interest in what Jack had to say. "Sit down," he offered.

""Nah, I'll stand if it's all th'same. I have it on good word that a shipment of tobacco will be leavin' La Havana in three days, heading fer Europe, which gives us enough time ter position ourselves to attack."

"How many guard boats?" Penhallick enquired, already working out in his mind which ships could accompany the _Black Pearl_ in the attack.

"Four, from I've been told. I reckon with th'_Pearl_ an' perhaps th'_Serpent_ an' _Sea Nymph_, we could take them on…"

"_Sea Nymph_? So you've already spoken to Curzon then?"

"Not yet," Jack grinned. But have you ever known Abe turn down a chance like this?"

"No," Ethan laughed, shaking his head. "Your source…?"

"Stays _my_ source," Jack replied firmly, wagging his finger. "Are you in?"

"Is your source reliable?"

"Hasn't let me down yet," the pirate captain shrugged. "Of course, if yer _not_ interested, I'm sure I can find others who would be…"

"But no-one else has a ship that can match the _Pearl_ for speed."

"_You_ don't have a ship that can match th'_Pearl_ for speed," Jack retorted. "Th'_Serpent_ is fast, I grant yer, but not _that_ fast."

"All right, all right," Penhallick conceded with a grin, whilst holding his hands up in surrender. "Y'know I like to wind you up."

"So, I'll have a word with Abe Curzon then?"

"Aye, do that, Jack, and tell me what he says over dinner tonight?"

"That I will," Jack grinned, clasping his hands together and bowing his head. "See you at eight?"

"Eight's fine. I'll make sure your favourite little nun is on duty for you," the younger man teased.

"I'll have ter have a wash then!" Jack grinned. "You can have him back now, Syn."

"'Bout bleedin' time too," the madame grumbled sulkily, pulling a face at Jack's back as he turned and made his way across the manicured lawn.

"That's enough of that," Ethan chided gently as he leaned over and started undoing the laces on the front of her dress. "Let me make it up to you…"

…

"I dunno why you had ter work tonight," Margaret sympathised as she watched Celia hurriedly wolf down some food. "Yer've been here since th'crack of dawn."

"I know," the blonde woman sighed resignedly. "But what Mister Penhallick wants, Mister Penhallick has," she shrugged. "At least I have time for something to eat."

"Barely," Margaret snorted. "Oh gawd, here we go," she groaned as a servant's bell rang out.

Celia put down the hunk of bread she had been eating and straightened her skirts as she stood, picking up a tray containing a shoulder of mutton, stuffed with oysters, whilst Margaret took a tray laden with vegetables out of the kitchen, up the stairs and across the hall to the dining room, where their employer was entertaining a guest. Margaret carefully knocked the door and opened it when called, setting the tray down on the table, but leaving enough room for Celia to place her tray down.

"Thank you, girls," Ethan Penhallick acknowledged.

"Good evening, Celia," Jack greeted with an easy-going smile.

"Captain Sparrow," she acknowledged, her cheeks reddening. '_Is there no escape from this man_?' she wondered, noting in spite herself, that he was dressed in finer clothes than she had seem him in previously.

"Were you safe last night?"

"Safe enough, thank you, Sir."

"Glad ter hear it," he grinned, bowing his head to her. "I kept thinkin' about you all night."

"Oh…" Celia stammered, fixing her eyes on a pattern in the rug, wishing that her face were not glowing as much as it was.

"I was worried that yer weren't safe on yer own," Jack explained with a broad grin. "Why, were you hopin' that I had lain awake burnin' with desire fer you?"

"No! Of course not," she asserted. "E-excuse me…" Celia turned tail and fled the room, a perplexed Margaret close behind.

"Yer _know _Jack Sparrow?" she gasped as they reached the relative privacy of the corridor leading to the servant's stairs.

"No!" Celia exploded. "That is, I had the misfortune to bump into him yesterday and he turned up at the service last night. Said he wanted to educate his men in religion," she snorted.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Margaret chuckled as they climbed down the stairs. "He's a strange one, from what I hear – not like yer usual pirate."

"I had noticed," Celia remarked dryly. His comment about lying awake all night had struck closer to home than was comfortable for her, for she had not been able to sleep the previous night, thanks to the rioting in the town, and had found it extremely difficult to budge the image of the pirate captain from her mind as she tossed and turned.

"You really shouldn't tease my staff," Ethan laughed after the door closed behind his servants.

"Ah, but she's such an easy target," Jack chuckled. "I'm surprised no-one's tried it on yet, though."

"She's very good to the whores from what Syn's told me – looks after 'em and patches them up if a punter beats them. They, in turn look out for her and have threatened to go on strike if any man harms her."

"Still a risk," Jack mused.

"Aye, and one she's prepared to take," Penhallick shrugged. "Now, enough about my staff, have you spoken to Curzon?"

"Aye, an' he's in. So we'll have ter move quickly if we're goin' to be in th'right place at th'right time."

"It'll take a couple of days to sail up and move to position," Penhallick reasoned. "So we'll have to go tomorrow."

"I'm ready, an' so is Abe," Jack informed him as he sat down, eager to tuck into the delicious smelling food.

"My ship is ready as well, so sail on the first bell of the afternoon watch?"

"We have an accord," Jack replied, holding his tankard up in toast.

…

Authors notes:

The prayer is by Martin Luther and is copywritten, so I don't own those words, either.

The Dirty Duck was and still is an informal name for a pub/tavern called the Black Swan.

First bell afternoon watch is 12.30pm.


	5. Chapter 5

Look – I've written a total of six stories (plus one in the pipeline) about the man – _please_ can I have him? I didn't think so…

Thank you for your reviews – they are appreciated as always. I have a favour to ask, if anyone could spare the time, I could do with a beta reader. Email me if you'd like to do it – thanks, Ani!

…

**Chapter Five**

Celia walked wearily down the street after finally finishing work at the mansion sometime after midnight. She had had to run the gauntlet all night with Jack Sparrow, smiling at him through gritted teeth as he made doe eyes at her and made some comment or other each time she had entered the room, much to her employer's amusement.

"Either you put a lot of faith in God, or you are extremely naïve."

"Oh! Oh, my goodness, Captain Sparrow – you frightened me half to death!" Celia exclaimed as she peered at the shadowy figure standing at the entrance of an alleyway.

"I can't believe yer walking home alone, _again_," he said, stepping into the moonlit street.

"Well how else am I to go home?" she shrugged. "I can look after myself, anyway."

"Yeah? An' just what will you do if someone decides ter accost you? Hit them with yer rosary beads?" Jack took a step towards her and grabbed both wrists, holding them firmly as she struggled. "What if I were a heartless bastard an' wanted my wicked way with you," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear as he pushed her into the alley. "How are you goin' to fight me off, eh?"

"Let me go!" Celia cried. "You have no right to do this. Help!" she called, hopelessly, her heart pounding.

"Don't know why you're callin' fer help," Jack purred, pressing himself against her as he guided her against a wall. "There are precious few in this town who'd help you…"

"P-please?" she begged, gasping as he suddenly released her. "You… you…" Her hand shot out before she had chance to think and slapped him hard across the face.

"Now what was that for?" Jack enquired as he rubbed his cheek gingerly. "I was merely pointin' out what could happen if a less reputable pirate decided to force himself on you. I told you, I don't hurt women."

"And I am supposed to believe a word you say?" Celia snapped, pushing past him and back onto the street, hurrying down it angrily.

Jack caught up, moving in front of her and blocking her way. "I don't lie, either. Well… not _much_," he smiled. "Just th'odd little white lie every now an' then."

"A lie is a lie," Celia retorted, trying to move past him and glaring at him as he continued to block her.

"Aren't we Miss prim an' proper?" he teased. "Did they teach yer to be like that at convent or have yer always been uptight?"

"I am not uptight!" she shouted, shoving Jack in the chest. "Why can you not leave me alone?"

"Because you intrigue me," Jack said by way of explanation. "An' I have a terrible curiosity."

"It's a good job you are not a cat then," Celia sniped.

"Afraid I might eat you, little mouse?"

"You are the most annoying, incorrigible man I have _ever_ known!" she spluttered indignantly.

"An' just how many men _have_ yer known?" Jack enquired, his voice dropping an octave or two as he advanced on her once more.

"I am… _was_ a novice, for goodness sake! How many men do you _think_ I have known?"

"All depends what you joined th'convent for, doesn't it?"

"Captain Sparrow," Celia sighed resignedly. "I have been up since before six o'clock this morning and it is now past midnight, as you know. I can barely stand on my feet and you are bothering me. _Please_ leave me alone."

"Answer my question an' I shall see you to yer door safely."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I shall continue ter bother you until dawn," he grinned.

"My fiancée jilted me a month before we were due to be wed," she sighed, looking downcast. "I felt as if I couldn't face the world, so I didn't – I joined the convent soon after."

"Ah," Jack winced. "Sorry, luv. I didn't realise…" He lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes. "More fool him, that's all I can say," he smiled gently.

"Thank you," Celia whispered, shivering at his closeness in spite herself. "Can I please go home now?"

"Of course, come on." Jack offered her his arm, stifling surprise as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they walked in silence down the street towards the docks.

"What _is_ that noise?" she wondered aloud as she heard a distant creaking. "I hear it most nights and mornings."

"That'll be th'harbour chain, luv. A heavy chain is stretched across th'harbour entrance ter stop ships comin' in – or goin' out, as th'case may be."

"I see," she nodded. "I believe they have one in Portsmouth harbour, don't they?"

"I don't know," Jack chuckled. "I have no intention of ever sailin' into Portsmouth harbour."

"Why not?"

"Th'Admiralty would erect th'gallows before th'_Pearl's _anchors reached th'sea bed."

"Oh…"

"Aye – oh. Here we are," he announced as they arrived at the rickety house. "It sounds as though someone has company…" Jack pressed his ear to the door, his grin broadening as he heard moans and groans coming from within.

"That is all I need," Celia sighed, feeling close to tears, she was so tired.

"You can sleep in my bunk," Jack offered. "It's comfy…"

"No! How many times must I tell you, I am not that sort."

"An' how many times must I tell _you_ – neither am I. I'll kip in a hammock."

"Pardon?" Celia asked, her eyes agog. "I-I couldn't possibly…"

"You need ter sleep an' I doubt very much you'd have any with that racket goin' on," he reasoned with an even smile on his face, his hands spread wide in a concilatory gesture.

"But…" she paused, trying to think of a logical excuse to turn down the pirate's offer. "I would be late for work."

"Do you know what time _we_ rise on board? I bet we'd be up an' workin' long before you."

"I need to attend my toilet. I can't go to work dirty."

"So I'll have my cook heat you some water an' you can wash."

"It wouldn't be appropriate," Celia said desperately, fast running out of arguments.

"This is Tortuga, luv. _Nothin_' is appropriate."

"Thank you, but I must decline your kind offer, Captain. Even if you did sleep in a hammock, people would still assume… well, you _know_ what they would assume."

"Aye, that you finally came to yer senses and realised what an irresistable devil I am," Jack grinned. "I tell you what," he said, guiding her away from the house. "I know for a fact that my master gunner is ashore tonight with his wife – you can have his cabin, eh?"

Celia floundered, her mind racing to try and think up a plausible excuse, but before she could, she found herself at the quayside and looking at a small ship's boat, moored to a bollard.

"Come on, luv. I'll help you down," Jack offered, climbing down to the boat and reaching up for her.

"This isn't a good idea," Celia murmured worriedly, but climbed down anyway.

"You need sleep," the pirate reminded her. "Otherwise what state will you be in for work tomorrow?"

"I do need to rest," she admitted, trying unsucessfully to stifle a yawn as she climbed down the ladders to the boat, tentatively accepting Jack's hand into the boat and onto the bench, snatching her hand away as he brushed his lips across her fingers. "Any more of that nonsense and I will climb back up!"

"No you won't," Jack chuckled as he sat quickly and took up the oars, rowing towards his ship in the middle of the harbour.

"You will keep your word?" Celia enquired.

"I will keep my word," Jack promised. '_More's the pity_,' he thought. '_Good job I'm a patient man_…'

"What is the name of your ship?"

"Th'_Black Pearl_," he boasted proudly. "Fastest ship in th'Caribbean."

"I have heard other pirates talk of it," Celia nodded.

"Her," Jack chided gently. "All ship's are she's."

"Are they? I didn't know that."

"See, I've improved yer education already!"

"You're very interested in education, aren't you, Captain?" Celias mused, watching him inquisitively.

"Th'second… no, th'_third_ best thing in th'world."

"What are the first and second then?" she enquired, her curiousity piqued.

"Th'first is sailin' th'_Pearl_," Jack announced. "Th'second'd make yer blush!"

"Oh…" Celia replied, reddening and being grateful that he could not see the fact that he had embarrased her.

"Captain approaching," Jack called as he neared the ship.

"Eh? Yer rowin' yerself, Cap'n?" John Orchard called down.

"Myself an' a guest, yer cheeky bastard!" Jack retorted, throwing the mooring line up to the deck. "Rig th'bosun's chair."

"Aye, Cap'n," the crewman deferred, knowing better than to push his luck any further.

"I-I can climb," Celia offered nervously.

"You're a lady an' will be treated as such."

"And yet you think nothing of swearing in front of me?" she rebuked.

"You've probably heard worse since you arrived here," Jack shrugged, reaching up to catch the chair as it was lowered. "Come on." He helped her in to the chair then indicated for the crew to heave it upwards, climbing alongside as it rose. "You all right?" he chuckled as she closed her eyes tightly and clung to the ropes.

"J-just f-fine and dandy," Celia gasped, biting her lip. "Am I near the top yet?"

"Do I have a kiss if I say yes?" Jack teased.

"No."

"Then, no, you've still got about ten feet ter go," he laughed as she reached the deck rail and was swung over it by John Orchard and Matthias Swain.

"I thought it might be you," Swain chuckled, nudging his friend knowingly.

"She's here as my guest," Jack growled as he climbed on to the deck, "an' she will be given her due respect, savvy?"

"Sorry, Cap'n, Miss," the two men apologised.

"She's sleepin' in Frazer's cabin, so arrange fer it to be cleaned up," their captain ordered.

"But Frazer's _in_ his cabin. Had an' argument wi'his wife, drank too much booze an' is sleepin' it off."

"He's _what_?" Jack exploded, making a mental note to punish Frazer for being drunk the night before they sail. "Gibbs?"

"Aye, Mister Gibbs is sleepin' like a babe."

"I'll go back to shore," Celia offered, guessing what may be coming.

"No you won't – who knows how long Giselle will be… _busy_."

"How do you know it was Giselle?" Celia asked, looking at Jack with a frown. "It could just as easily have been Aggie."

"I recognised her moans," Jack laughed, winking salaciously at the outraged young woman. "You can sleep in my bunk – _I'll_ be sleepin' in a hammock," he announced, loud enough for those on deck to hear and understand his message.

"But…" she spluttered.

"No," Jack said firmly, shaking his head and grabbing her hand, leading her towards the master cabin with a swaying gait.

"But… it wouldn't be…"

"Appropriate," Jack finished for her with a grin. "Welcome to th'_Black Pearl_." He pushed open the doors with a flourish, waving her in.

Celia stepped cautiously inside his cabin, peering around in the gloom. "This really isn't a good idea…" She blinked as Jack lit a lantern, illuminating the cabin and making shadows bounce off the carved wood panelling.

"Do you want some food?"

"No, I'm fine," she smiled weakly, wishing she had been more assertive in her refusal to come aboard.

"My bunk's in th'side cabin," Jack told her, nodding his head towards a doorway as he uncorked a bottle. "Feel free ter kip down whenever yer want – although I might suggest yer go soon or I'll be carryin' yer ter bed," he winked.

"W-why?" Celia spluttered, backing away from him.

"You look fit ter drop. I'm amazed you can still stand."

"Oh… I see. Y-yes, I think I will go now, if you don't mind. Goodnight, Captain."

"Night Celia, luv. Sleep well."

Celia took a lantern, which Jack offered her, and hurried to the side cabin, pulling the heavy velvet drapes across the doorway and took a deep breath in an effort to calm her racing heart. She leaned against the bunk and eased her boots off, wriggling her stockinged toes before turning and looking at the bunk, which was far larger than in previous ships she had been on, gulping as an image of the pirate captain asleep in it flitted through her mind. '_Stop it_!' she chided, hesitantly undoing the laces down the front of her dress, then shrugging it off and laying it over a chair in the corner of the cabin. Celia approached the top of the bunk with trepidation, reaching a timid hand out to pull the bedcovers back. '_You are being silly_,' she scolded herself. '_It's not going to jump up and bite you_.' She grabbed the coverlets and yanked them back firmly before climbing onto the bunk and settling down, closing her eyes with grim determination.

'_What's that smell_?' Celia wondered, turning her head to one side and sniffing, still with her eyes closed. '_It's him_!' Her eyes shot back open and she looked around in panic, breathing a sigh of relief when she found the side cabin still empty apart from herself. Celia rolled over and closed her eyes again, trying to ignore the tangy, slightly musky smell of her would be rescuer. '_Oh, this is not going to work_. _I'll never sleep and my reputation will be ruined for nothing_,' she lamented. '_But why is he doing this? Why should he care whether I sleep or not, unless… unless he plans to steal in during the night and rape me_!' She lay in the bunk, determined to stay awake in case he did what she feared, but all too soon, her eyes grew heavier and hotter until they drooped shut.

…

"Fer gawds sake!" Jack cursed, looking daggers towards the side bunk as he heard Celia moan and mutter in her sleep. "Some of us are tryin' ter kip here," he growled, leaning over the side of the hammock in an effort to grab a bottle of rum just out of reach, and crying out as the hammock turned and spilled him onto the cabin deck.

"What's that?" came Celia's worried voice from within the side cabin.

"Only me," Jack hissed, snatching the bottle, then hurling it across the cabin as he reaslised it was empty.

"Well do you mind keep the noise down, I'm trying to sleep," she sniped crossly.

"_You're_ tryin' ter sleep?" Jack echoed, his eyebrows in danger of disappearing beneath his bandana, which he had forgotten to take off. "Well, pardon me, Miss Hammond. I have had barely five minutes of sleep, what with your mutterin' an' tossin' an' turnin'."

"I have not been tossing and turning, and I most certainly have _not_ been muttering," she grumbled.

"How th'hell do you know, you were asleep – unlike me."

"Well you have certainly ensured I am asleep no longer! Just what are you doing in there?" she asked suspiciously.

"Tryin' ter have a drink," Jack sniped, crawling across the floor as he spied another bottle under the table. He picked it up, a triumphant grin on his face as he found it was half full.

"_Really_, Captain?" Celia enquired, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It sounded to me as if you were dancing with cannonballs strapped to your feet."

"I'll strap bloody cannonballs to _your_ feet in a minute," Jack muttered, shooting a dark look towards the side cabin.

"What did you say?" came her icy voice.

"Nothin', luv," Jack replied sweetly as he popped the cork from the neck of the bottle and tipped most of the contents down his throat. "Nothin' at all," he grinned, wiping his lips on his shirt sleeve.

"Well, if you would be so kind as to keep the noise down?"

"Likewise..."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

…


	6. Chapter 6

Nope, he still ain't mine!

Many thanks for your reviews –I'm glad I made you all laugh over that chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed typing it! I'd also like to thank those of you who have been reading (and reviewing) Another Time, Another Place – it's still a great thrill when I get a review alert for that. Lastly, many thanks to Kat for offering to be my beta.

…

**Chapter Six**

"Celia, luv," Jack crooned, leaning over the sleeping woman. "Time ter wake up…"

"Wha…? Oh, goodness me!" she gasped as her eyes sprung open.

"Mornin' darlin'," Jack grinned. "Sleep well, _eventually_?"

"Y-yes," Celia replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes then gasping as she realised that Jack was shirtless. "Get out!" she exclaimed. "How dare you!"

"Oops, sorry luv, I never thought," he quipped, giving her a broad wink as he turned on his heel and padded out of the side cabin.

"Of course you didn't," she snapped sarcastically, trying hard to drag her eyes from his lean, muscular back. "What time is it?"

"Th'two bells of th'mornin' watch have just sounded," he informed her from the main cabin.

"And just what time is _that_?"

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Five o'clock. Plenty of time ter have a wash an' somethin' ter eat before you go."

"No, thank you anyway. I would prefer to go home now, please."

"Can't spare th'men yet."

"Why ever not?" Celia demanded, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk and hoisting herself down from it.

"We're sailin' this afternoon. Th'men need ter make everythin' shipshape, savvy?"

"So, they can do it when I'm ashore, surely?"

"Nah, luv. I'll be takin' you ashore – I have business ter attend."

"I see," she sighed. "In that case, you promised that I could wash?"

"I did indeed," Jack agreed. "An' it so happens Toby brought some hot water up just before you woke. It's in th'head."

Celia peered into the even smaller side cabin, taking in the hole cut into the planking, which served as a toilet, and a pitcher and bowl to the side of it. "Thank you," she called, pulling the drapes across lest he attempt to spy on her, and she stripped out of her undershift, picking up a rag and tablet of grey soap which had also been provided, and started to wash herself, luxuriating in the feel of hot water for the first time in years.

"Breakfast is here," came Jack's voice, breaking Celia from her revere.

"I'm coming," she replied, drying herself with another piece of rag and pulling on her clothes hastily, her grumbling stomach reminding her that it had been a number of hours since she had eaten anything.

"Better?" Jack smiled as Celia appeared in the main cabin, looking cleaner and more refreshed than the previous night.

"Much," she replied with a hesitant smile. "You are very kind – why?"

"Can a man not be kind?" he enquired, throwing his arms up theatrically.

"Not a pirate, no."

"Ah, you have a lot ter learn, young Miss Hammond," Jack chuckled. "There are many sides ter people – not just one."

"I have learned one thing," she replied icily. "Never trust anyone in this town."

"So why do you take such risks, eh? Why do these _services_ an' walk home alone? It won't take even th'most rum addled brain long ter work out how vulnerable you are."

"I have managed well enough for the past two months," Celia shrugged, although inside she felt uneasy at his words. She knew she had been lucky thus far and prayed that her luck would hold a while longer.

"Only because th'girls carry more weight in this town than people realise. Not ter mention few would dare hurt a member of Penhallick's staff."

"Mister Penhallick doesn't care that much about our welfare," Celia snorted.

"Maybe not, but it still doesn't do ter cross him." Jack sat at the table and indicated for Celia to do the same. "Tuck in."

Celia sat and took a mouthful of porridge, looking around the cabin as she ate, surprised at the contents of it. Not the rubbish strewn hovel that she had imagined, but, apart from the odd discarded bottle or two, it would not have looked out of place in a country house, with ornately carved panelling around the cabin, expensive drapery hanging from the stern windows and side cabin, porcelin minatures hanging on the bulwarks, and a couple of books resting on the edge of the table at which they ate. She looked up, suddenly aware of Jack watching her closely.

"I-I'm sorry," Celia apologised. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Not what you expected, eh?" he smiled as he scooped up the last of the porridge from his pewter bowl.

"No," she admitted ruefully. "You're something of an enigma, Captain Sparrow."

"Thank you," Jack grinned, toasting her with his beaker of ale. "That's th'nicest thing you've said to me."

"I wasn't aware it was a compliment," Celia retorted. "Or is it that you are so desperate to be liked that you snatch at even the flimsiest of praise, Captain?"

"Celia, luv, don't you know – I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he drawled, a cocksure look on his face.

"And that means…?"

"Ask Aggie or Giselle when you return – no, best just ask Aggie."

"Are you not Giselle's favourite man?" Celia asked acidly with a sweet expression on her face.

"Is any man Giselle's favourite?" Jack sniped. "You live with her, you know what's she like."

Inwardly, Celia agreed with him, but outwardly her face remained unreadable. "When will I be able to go ashore? I mustn't be late for work."

"I'll take you just now," Jack promised. "Come," he called as a knock sounded on the door.

"Everything's coming along nicely, Cap'n. The men are looking forward to this raid."

"Ah, Gibbs. Allow me ter introduce…"

"Celia?" the quartermaster gasped. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"Joshamee!" Celia beamed, then immediately realised that he would take the wrong end of the stick. "This isn't how it looks," she said quickly, looking to Jack to back her up. "I-I couldn't go home…"

"You two know each other?" Jack enquired, looking from one to the other with a bewildered frown.

"Yes, Joshamee attends some of my services," the young woman explained. "Please tell him it isn't how it looks," she begged.

"How do you know Jack?" Gibbs asked.

"Ahem… _Jack_?" his captain enquired acerbically.

"Sorry - Captain Sparrow," the older man corrected.

"I… we've bumped into one another from time to time. Captain Sparrow very kindly offered me his bunk as I was very tired last night," Celia gabbled. "It isn't as it seems, I promise."

"Did he, indeed?" Gibbs replied, arching an eyebrow at his captain.

"For goodness sake! _Tell him_!" Celia demanded, belatedly realising that there was no sign of the hammock in the cabin.

"She slept in my bunk an' I slept in a hammock," Jack finally conceded, an impish grin on his face.

"You are impossible!" Celia exploded, jumping to her feet. "I want to go home, _now_!"

"An' I said that I'd take you, _now_," Jack replied evenly. "Come along," he chivied, shooing Celia with his hands.

"Goodbye, Joshamee," Celia smiled as she found herself ushered from the cabin. "I'll see you soon…"

"You will, pet," Josamee called to her departing figure, shaking his head slowly as he pondered what his captain's ulterior motives could be, although he suspected he _knew_ what his captain's ulterior motives were.

"Oh, must I go in that thing?" she groaned as she saw the bosun's chair had been rigged.

"You can't exactly climb in a dress, eh?" Jack reasoned. "You won't fall, I promise."

Celia took a deep breath and climbed into the seat, holding onto the ropes for dear life as some crewmen swung her over the side of the _Black Pearl_ and started to lower her as Jack climbed down the Jacob's ladder. "A-are we there yet?" she stammered, not daring to open her eyes.

"Nearly," Jack told her as he reached the boat and steadied it then grabbed the ropes of the chair as it arrived. "I've got you," he smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist as he helped Celia into the boat.

"T-thank you, oh!" she gasped as she pitched forward and into his arms.

"Steady as she goes!" Jack chuckled, righting the boat with his weight as he held her.

Celia opened her eyes and found Jack's face mere inches away from her own. She gulped, trying to drag her gaze from his, but found his eyes hypnotic. "I think you can let me go now," she squeaked, pulling gently away from him, her heart thumping like she had never known, even with Robert, her fiancée.

"Pity," Jack replied huskily. "I was just enjoyin' myself…" He helped her down on the bench then sat opposite and picked up the oars, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Yes well," she blustered. "You know very well I'm not that sort of woman, Captain Sparrow." Celia stared into the water, wishing her face was not growing redder by the second the more he stared at her. "Did your mother not teach you it's rude to stare?" she retorted eventually.

"Aye, but she also taught me ter appreciate things of beauty," he grinned lasciviously.

"_Really_, Captain!" Celia sighed. "You are the most incorrigible, lewd rogue I have ever met!"

"Incorrigible I agree with, but lewd? Surely yer've met men worse than me?"

"Not much worse," she argued.

"Have I ever made any untoward advances on you? Have I ever been suggestive or coarse?"

"Not unless you count that little _incident_ last night when you made me think you were about to attack me."

"I was merely pointin' out what could happen ter you," Jack reasoned. "It's a fair walk from th'church ter Aggie's – anythin' could happen."

"Why do you care?" Celia demanded as they approached the quayside. "What am I to you?"

Jack didn't reply immediately, throwing the mooring line to a stevedor and he climbed from the boat, reaching down to help the young woman out, before speaking again. "What's wrong with carin' about what happens ter you?" he asked once they were on their way towards the house she shared with the two whores.

"You think that by pretending to care about me, that I will give myself to you, is that it?"

"Well, if that's what you think, I'll bid you good day, Miss Hammond," Jack snapped, turning on his heel and storming back along the street towards the docks.

"Oh dear," Celia sighed as she watched him go. "I seem to have a knack for upsetting people…" She went to carry on her way, but changed her mind, hoping that he would be going to her employer's mansion and that she might bump into him to apologise, so she turned and headed for the mansion, reasoning that she would have to be in work soon anyway.

…

Jack strode up the hill towards the mansion of Ethan Penhallick, the look on his face enough to keep people out of his way as he passed them. '_Ungrateful little madam_,' he thought crossly. '_Think's her God will keep her safe from th'bastards that roam this town_. _She'll have another thing comin' one of these days_…' He frowned at the thought, wishing there was something he could do and ignoring the voice in his head asking _why _he actually cared what happened to her.

"Cap'n!"

Jack whirled round, beads and braids flying and in danger of hitting him in the face. He arched an eyebrow on seeing two of his crewmen hurrying towards him. "What are you two doin' in town?" he enquired, ready to tear them off a strip or two if they were shirking their duties on board the ship.

"We need some more oakum," Oliver Fernan informed him in his broad Irish brogue. "Mister Gibbs sent us."

"Ah," Jack nodded. "On yer way then… no! Wait."

"Yes, Cap'n?" Gabriel Jennings asked.

"I have a little job fer you," Jack grinned. "It won't take long…"

…

"Are yer comin'?" Judith Pinkney asked as Celia emerged from a back room where she had changed from her uniform. It had been a busy day, even though the master of the house had left mid morning to sail with Jack Sparrow. Why, Celia could only guess at and she was not sure she wanted to. She had not seen the pirate captain since their parting of ways early that morning and she vowed that she would apologise for her rudeness as soon as he returned to the town.

"Yes, I'm ready," she sighed, linking her arm through her friend's as they walked out of the kitchen door. "I can't wait to get to bed tonight."

"Yeah, yer do look bushed," Judith sympathised. "Hey, ain't that Aggie?" she said as she spied the whore hovering by the main gates. "Wonder what she wants?"

"Hello, Aggie," Celia smiled, the smile fading as she saw her friend's face. "What has happened?" she enquired, her stomach churning with unease.

"Th'church," Aggie gulped. "It's been destroyed."

"_What_?" Celia gasped, her hand flying to her chest in horror. "How? When?"

"Fire - this mornin'," her friend informed her. "Sorry, Cee," she shrugged, placing a sympathetic hand on Celia's shoulder.

"Is there anything left?" Celia whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

"No," Aggie shook her head. "It's just a shell."

"Oh, no," Judith commiserated. "What yer goin' t'do now?"

"I have no idea," Celia sighed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "I think I'll go and see it for myself."

"I'll come with yer," Judith offered as Aggie nodded in agreement and the three women set off towards the church with arms linked.

…

"Who on earth would have done such a wicked thing?" Celia wondered aloud as she surveyed the ruin of the building. She had been hoping the damage would not be too bad and that she would be able to renovate it, but whoever had destroyed it certainly knew what they were doing as it was not only un-repairable, but in danger of collapsing completely.

"Take yer pick," Aggie retorted. "There's enough in this bleedin' place."

"Maybe you can hold the services somewhere else," Judith suggested. "There's bound ter be someone who'd rent yer a room."

"I can't afford to pay rent on a room," Celia shrugged ruefully. "I'll think of something, I suppose. They do say that necessity is the mother of invention."

"That's th'spirit," Aggie grinned. "Come on, let's go home an' have some grub, eh?"

"All right," Celia sighed and with a last look at the wrecked building, turned and walked back down the hill with her friends.

…


	7. Chapter 7

Cursed disclaimers!

Many thanks, as always, for your reviews – they always give me a buzz. Special thanks to Kat for her suggestions (which have been taken on board!). Things starts to get a little interesting from now on…

…

**Chapter seven**

Jack Sparrow scanned the horizon through his looking glass, beaming with delight when he saw that his look-out, Jacob Sumner, was indeed correct and there were only three ships guarding the one carrying the tobacco that he, Ethan Penhallick and Arbaham Curzon were hoping to plunder. He traced a line back, gasping at the sheer size of the Dutch fleut. "Why?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone in particular.

"Why, what, Cap'n?" Joshamee Gibbs enquired.

"Why has a ship that size only got three guards?"

"Mebbe they can't afford any more guards – or don't want to pay out any more than they have to," the quartermaster suggested with a shrug.

"Nah… no-one is _that_ stupid," Jack mused, taking his glass down and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It's very high in th'water fer somethin' that's supposed to be loaded with tobacco… Mister Sumner!" he called to the watchman in the crow's nest. "Keep an eye out fer another ship – maybe well away from this flotilla, savvy?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," the crewmen replied before bringing his own spy glass back up to search for any other ship in the vicinity.

"Why isn't Sparrow headin' fer them?" Jargo Teague asked as he and his employer, Ethan Penhallick watched the _Black Pearl_ from their position to her port stern.

"I have no idea," Penhallick replied. "But let's see what he does, eh? You don't become as successful a pirate as Jack by not knowing what you are doing." It had been some time since he had been on a raid and he had almost forgotten the nuances of attacking succesfully and decided to trust to Jack's expertise which were well-known and infamous amongst the pirate and merchant communities alike.

"Suppose not," Teague agreed, reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to feel the wind in his long blond hair as the _Serpent_ gave chase to their prey.

"Sir!" Jacob Sumner called down to Jack. "I think I see more sails, but it's too far away ter be certain."

Jack smirked triumphantly to himself. "_That's_ our target, Mister Gibbs," he crowed, puffing his chest out with pride.

"We don't even know that it _is_ a target yet," the older man reasoned even though he knew his captain was more than likely correct – he usually was. In all his years at sea, Joshamee Gibbs had never come across someone with such an acute intuition as the man standing next to him on the quarterdeck.

"Of course it is," Jack sighed with impatience. "Mister Fernan, I am goin' ter speak with Penhallick, keep her steady, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," the helmsman agreed. "Steady as she goes."

Jack turned on his heel and leaned over the stern rail, waving his arms to attract the attention of the ship sailing behind them. He was pleased to see Penhallick and Teague standing on their quarterdeck, looking towards him, and Jack waited as they walked the length of the _Serpent_ until they reached the bowsprit. "Ethan," he called. "Th'ship is back there – these are decoys!" Jack jabbed a finger towards the general direction of where Sumner had seen the sails.

"Decoys?" Jargo Teague echoed, looking at the procession. "Th'bastards!"

"I told you to trust Sparrow," Penhallick chuckled. "Go and inform Curzon," he ordered, waiting until his second in command went on his errand to tell the captain of the other ship at their stern, what was happening. "Do we go after them now?" he called to the black ship ahead of his own.

"Head fer th'back of th'convoy, make them think we're goin' ter attack from behind, but carry on, savvy?"

"Aye, Jack, savvy," Penhallick laughed, giving his friend the thumbs up. "You crafty sod," he chuckled to himself as he went to instruct his helmsman on what to do.

The three attacking ships tacked towards the back of the flotilla and they could all see the men on the so-called guard ships making ready to defend themselves, but at the last minute, the _Black Pearl_ tacked again and headed away from them and out of their range. A loud boom rang out as one of the guard ships tried their luck with the _Serpent_, Ethan Penhallick's ship, but they too turned just in time and the shot fell marginally short.

"Bloody hell," Jack swore, his eyes wide at the near miss. "They left that a bit late, didn't they?"

"Aye," Gibbs nodded, thinking that if it had been _his_ helmsman who had left it that late, he'd be clapped in irons by now. "What if that ship _isn't_ the target, Jack?" he asked quietly.

"Then I don't show my face in Tortuga for a bloody long time," came the retort.

"Cap'n! It looks like a merchant carrier from what I can tell," Jacob Sumner informed his captain from his lofty perch.

"See?" Jack crowed, preening himself. "Told you I was right."

"So you did," Gibbs grinned, shaking his head ruefully. "So you did…"

"An' she's all on her lonesome," Jack laughed. "How about we go an' keep them company, eh?" he called to the crew, who responded with a loud cheer.

"Keep watch for the guard ships, though," the quartermaster warned them as the noise died down. "They'll be turning tail as soon as they can."

"Unless Abe deals with 'em first," chuckled Oliver Fernan from his position at the helm.

A boom sounded across the water before anyone had a chance to reply, and they all turned to see what was happening.

"Looks like he's started!" Jack grinned as he spotted a puff of smoke coming the _Sea Nymph_ at the rear of the three attacking ships, and panic on the decks of one of the guard ships which they had obviously hit.

"He's nothin' if not predictable," the Irishman laughed as he continued to steer towards the ship on the horizon.

"A few other things besides," Joshamee Gibbs added.

"Cap'n!" Jacob Sumner called down. "They're changing course – they know we're comin' fer them."

"So we give chase," his captain replied simply. "We'll catch them eventually."

…

Celia tossed and turned in the small cot but eventually gave up the fight and lay there, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the sounds of Aggie and Giselle as they both slept. '_I thought the virtuous were the one's able to sleep soundly_,' she thought crossly. '_Vanity is a sin_,' came another voice. '_Who said you are so virtuous, anyway_?' She turned over in a futile effort to make herself comfortable, and closed her eyes, opening them immediately as she saw in her mind the liquid brown pools of the pirate captain who had dogged her steps for the past couple of days. '_Blast the man_,' Celia cursed, wishing she would not think about him quite so much. '_There's nothing too wrong with him_,' another voice reasoned. '_He was kind enough to offer me a bunk and he's never been untoward… well, not much_.' She sighed heavily, wishing there was somewhere she could walk safely as she was sure she was about to wake the other two women with her fidgeting. '_Oh, for a garden_,' she rued. '_Oh, for a nice, respectable town where I could walk unaccosted and didn't have pirates propositioning me every five yards…_' But Celia knew that was now an impossible dream – at least until she had earned enough money to book a passage elsewhere. '_Back to England_?' she wondered, biting her lips as she considered the idea. '_But it would cost an awful lot to return home_,' she realised sadly. '_I ought to become a pirate_!' Celia stifled a giggle at the preposterous thought and closed her eyes once more, hoping that she would manage some sleep before dawn.

…

**The following day**

Jack rubbed his eyes, having stayed awake most of the night, watching their quarry move closer and closer. He could not understand why they had not doused their lights as they obviously knew they were being chased, and he fought down a feeling of unease. Abraham Curzon had dealt with a couple of the guard ships effectively enough to deter the others from giving chase, and they had left their burden to their fate which gave Jack one less thing to worry about, but still the disquiet continued to dog him.

"Should be with them in less than an hour, Cap'n," Gabriel Jennings said as he approached with a beaker of coffee for his captain.

"I just hope it's worth it," Jack mused, nodding his thanks as he took the steaming drink off his crewman.

"Of course it will be," Jennings assured him with a frown. He had never heard his captain voice anxiety before. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I dunno," Jack shrugged. "Just some things aren't addin' up, that's all.' He looked once more at the ship looming ever larger in the dawn light. She certainly seemed low enough in the water to be carrying the amount of tobacco his informant had assured him would be on board, but she could equally be carrying enough munitions to blow them out of the water. '_Stop it_,' he scolded himself. '_You never used to be a worrier, don't start now_.' "Go rouse th'men," he told Gabriel. "Let's have them ready when we close, eh?"

"Aye, Cap'n," the crewman concurred, turning on his heel to hurry off on his errand.

…

Celia closed the bedroom door, wincing as Syndony Chester continued her tirade towards her. She had a feeling there would be trouble when one of the stable hands had dropped a pail right beneath the madame's window just after breakfast time and her employer's woman had let her displeasure be known to the whole household, screeching and yelling, and throwing things at whomever had the misfortune to have to enter her boudoir. Celia seemed to bear the brunt of it, as she often did. For reasons unknown to her, Syndony had taken a dislike to the former novice and never missed an opportunity for a barb here and a dig there – running her down all the time.

"Yer survived then?" Margaret asked acerbically as they walked down the stairs together. "I've never known the cow so vicious."

"Maybe she's worried about Mister Penhallick," Celia suggested, arching an eyebrow as her companion snorted derisively.

"The only thing she'd worry about is if the master is killed and someone else takes over the town – someone like Jack Sparrow." Margaret watched her friend carefully as she mentioned the pirate's name. She had a feeling there was something going on between them, despite Celia's strong protestations to the contrary.

"Why?" the blonde woman asked, trying not to react for she could feel Margaret's eyes boring into her. "Surely he wouldn't throw her out of her own home?"

"That's exactly what he'd do," Margaret stated firmly. "Fer one, it's not _her_ home, and fer two, he don't have no time fer her. She'd have to go and live in the brothel again, and maybe work!" she giggled, obviously enjoying the thought.

"Why would Jack Sparrow take over the town? Surely there are plenty of other's who could take over?"

"Yer need a certain something," Margaret told her, having been born and brought up in the pirate town and seen many pirate _kings_ come and go. "A way of dealing with people, and yer need wealth, and rumour has it Sparrow is richer than Mister Penhallick!" She followed her friend down the servant stairs and into the kitchen.

"Oh…" Celia replied, bringing to mind the somewhat luxurious surroundings of the pirate's cabin, which seemed at odds with his rather scruffy appearance.

"Mind yer, he's as mad as they come," Margaret chuckled, smirking as a blush crept over her friends face, as it always did when they spoke of the strange pirate captain.

"Who?" Sarah, the cook enquired as she looked up from kneading the bread.

"Sparrow," Margaret informed her. "'Ere, what's that noise?" she exclaimed as a dull boom resonated in the distance.

"Sounded like canon fire to me," Sarah exclaimed, her eyes going wide with worry.

"Sure not?" Celia frowned. "There are no new ships in the harbour."

"No, I know," Margaret fretted, looking at the back door as if expecting it to provide her with an answer. "Gawd, I hope it's not an attack."

"Attack?" Celia echoed, exchanging worried glances with the other two women. "Who would attack?"

"Pirates from another island, the Navy, someone with a grudge against the master – take yer pick."

"We don't know that it is a strike against the town yet," Sarah soothed, as much for her own benefit as the younger girls. She had lost her husband a few years ago to a naval assault and she had lived in fear of another one ever since.

"You!" Syndony shrieked as she flew into the kitchen, jabbing a finger at Celia. "Help me pack my clothes."

"W-why?" Celia enquired, fear churning in her stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you question me, you little slut," the madame screeched. "We're under attack an' I need ter go into hiding. Now move up them fuckin' stairs and pack!"

"Bloody hell," Margaret swore, hurrying for the same back door she had been staring at a few minutes earlier. "Come on, Cee. Forget her," she urged, jerking her head towards Syndony. "Come on, we've got ter go!" She and Sarah ran out of the door, desperate to run away from whomever was attacking the pirate town.

"Don't you dare, yer fuckin' cow!" the brothel keeper spat, grabbing Celia's arm and propelling her towards the stairs leading to the main house. "I'll make sure th'only work you would have in this town would be spreadin' yer legs for any bastard ter shag yer, understand?"

"B-but," Celia stammered, tripping up the stairs. "Surely there's no time to pack?"

"If you think I'm leavin' my silk gowns an' jewellery behind, you've got another thing comin'."

"Where are we going?" Celia asked as she pulled a small trunk from a closet and opened the wardrobe.

"Not that trunk, yer stupid bitch! Ya can't fit anything in that! Fer gawds sake, hurry up!" she urged as the sounds of rioting got ever closer. "They'll be here soon."

"Well help me then," Celia snapped. "And I won't be able to carry a larger trunk so this will have to do."

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Syndony shouted, backhanding Celia and sending her flying across the room. "Oh, bloody hell," she swore as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

"Well, well, well," growled a fearsome looking man as his eyes scanned the room and took in the two women. "Looks like we're in fer some fun, lads."

"N-no," Celia pleaded as a couple of the half a dozen or so men advanced on her. "P-please, I beg of you…"

"Who's yer captain?" Syndony demanded, picking up a silver candlestick and waving in front of herself in an attempt to ward off the other men. "_Who_?"

"Davy Stockton," came a voice from the stairs.

"Well order yer men off," the madame insisted. "It's me, Syndony Chester."

"Aye, I thought I recognised th'voice."

Celia gulped as a great bear of a man with a scar running the length of his left cheek, strode into the room, seemingly taking up most of the space. She shrank back, hoping to be forgotten.

"An' who is this, yer handmaid?" the pirate enquired as his eyes raked the curvaceous blonde woman, trying to hide in the corner of the room.

"Of sorts," Syndony shrugged, interested in only her own survival. "So, yer've come ter take over?"

"Nah," Stockton chuckled. "Just take."

"I can show yer where Penhallick keeps his wealth," the dark haired woman announced, slinking over to the captain. "It'll cost yer, mind."

"Oh, aye? What'll it cost me?" Stockton enquired, snaking an arm around her waist. "Yer safety? How safe will yer be when _he_ finds out he's broke, thanks ter you?"

"How will he know?" she shrugged.

"It'll be suss if we leave you here an' take all th'other women of th'town."

"Yer won't catch half of them," Syndony declared with a shrug.

"Nah, I think I'll be takin' both of ya with me, _after_ you show me where Penhallick's fortune is."

"No!" Celia screamed as one of the men grabbed her and pressed his mouth over hers. She struggled in his grasp, managing to snatch a handful of hair and pull hard.

"Yer little whore!" he roared, striking her.

"That's enough!" Stockton ordered. "If she's marked, I won't be able ter sell her, pretty and curvy as she is."

"Oh, but you will," Syndony smirked. "She's a virgin, ain't she?" she announced, looking mocking at Celia. "Fetch a good price fer her, yer will."

"Is she now?" Stockton grinned, a steely glint in his eyes. "Well, we'll have ter make sure yer not molested now, won't we?" he chuckled, nodding for his men to escort the two women from the room.

"What about me?" Syndony urged. "Yer ain't sellin' me, are ya?"

"You, Syn? Perish th'thought," Davy Stockton smiled coldly. "You an' me'll relive old times, eh?"

"Good," Syndony replied, a little uncertainly. "An' afterwards?"

"We'll just have ter see how many new tricks yer've learned since I last had ya."

"Then I'll be safe fer a few years!" she boasted with a hollow laugh as she watched Celia being ushered out of the room.

"Take her to the ship," Stockton ordered his men, looking over Celia once more. "Untouched – or I'll personally cut yer balls off an' feed them to yer. Miss Chester an' I have some business ter attend."

"Aye, Cap'n," his men deferred, knowing their captain would carry out his threat if they went against him.

…

"Well, that was nice an' easy," Jack grinned as he, Ethan Penhallick and Abraham Curzon toasted their success in an anonymous tavern in Matanzas, some sixty miles down the coast from La Havana, his unease during the chase proved unfounded. They had spent that afternoon in tense negotiations with various other pirates and captains who were not averse to doing business with the trio, before selling the tobacco they had purloined at a better price than they had anticipated.

"Not sure about easy," Abe Curzon grinned, for there had been times during the talks when violence threatened to break out and it was only the presence of some of their bulkiest crewmen, armed to the teeth, that had kept the peace.

"You both comin' back to Tortuga?" Penhallick enquired as he downed his rum and held his beaker up for a refill as a barmaid passed their table.

"I might," Jack confirmed. "Th'men didn't have a very long shore leave an' I don't fancy a mutiny on m'hands."

"_Another _mutiny, you mean," the pirate king taunted, ignoring the dark look that Jack shot him.

'_I'll give you mutiny_,' Jack thought broodingly. '_You ungrateful bastard_.' "Aye," he grinned which did not quite reach his eyes. "_Another_ mutiny!"

"I'm headin' fer th'Americas," Curzon announced. "Good trade up that way."

"Trade?" Penhallick enquired. "You're not becomin' respectable, are you?"

"Me?" Curzon laughed, the sound drawing attention from all corners of the tavern. "That'll be th'day, but still…"

"It pays ter have fingers in many pies," Jack smiled, winking at his friend.

"I prefer me fingers ter be in some whore, but yeah, pies when it comes ter business."

"Eloquently put," Jack laughed, toasting Curzon.

"We all know where you'd want your fingers, Jack," Penhallick chuckled. "Is she the reason for coming back?"

"No," Jack stated, although he knew it wasn't _entirely_ true. "I told you th'reason. Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I see a woman who is in need of good company." Jack stood and bowed his head to his companions before heading towards a buxom whore who had been giving him the eye for the last ten minutes.

…

Aggie ran for all she was worth into the hills, which surrounded the pirate town, along with Giselle and a handful of other whores, glancing back every now and then to make sure they weren't being followed. She frowned as she saw a plume of smoke rising and realised it was coming from the direction of Penhallick's mansion. "Celia!" she gasped, stopping in her tracks and going to make back down to the town.

"Don't be bleedin' stupid," Giselle snapped. "There's nothin' yer can do ter help her – from what some of th'others said, Stockton made straight fer th'big house, so she'd have been one of th'first taken. Come on." She grabbed Aggie's arm and dragged her through the undergrowth, cursing as brambles and thorns scratched at her legs. "Gawd, no man's goin' ter want my legs around him, th'state they're in!"

"No man's interested in yer legs," another whore cackled. "Just make sure nothin' else is scratched ter shreds."

"If there'll be any men _left_ in Tortuga after Stockton's had his fun," another one added. "Vicious bastard, from what I've heard."

"Oh, Celia," Aggie lamented. "Gawd, I hope she'll be all right."

"Sorry," Giselle shrugged. "But I doubt she will be."

"I know," the red haired whore sighed. "Maybe she managed ter escape."

"We'll search fer her as soon as _he_ buggers off, eh?" Giselle smiled, trying to make her friend feel better.

"Yes," Aggie nodded. "We will."

…

Celia shivered violently and tried to move, to no avail. Her captors had literally thrown her into the main cabin of the _Sea's Cutlass_ and had pawed her unmercilessly as they tied her to a stout chair and then left her, locking the door behind themselves, eager to return ashore to cause more mayhem. She gasped with fright as she heard the key turn in the lock.

"So yer made it safely, then?" Davy Stockton sneered as he entered his cabin. "Good. Come on, Syn – yer trunk don't weigh _that_ much, yer lazy cow!"

"It bleedin' does," she protested, dragging a trunk along the deck and into the cabin. Celia noted caustically that it was the same small trunk that she and the madame had argued over before they, or rather, _she_ had been taken captive. "She ain't stayin' here, I hope," Syndony snapped, looking with distaste at Celia tied to the chair.

"I don't know yet, I haven't decided," Stockton sighed. He had forgotten just how much his one-time lover could moan, and not just with passion either. He walked to his prisoner and took out a small, sharp dagger and sliced through the rope binding her to his chair. "Stand up," he ordered, grabbing her by her dress when she was slow to comply. "I don't ask twice," he snarled, hauling her to her feet and pushing his face into hers, his rancid breath making her gag.

"Please, let me go," Celia whispered, her voice cracking with fear and want of a drink.

"You speak when I give you permission," Stockton shouted, shaking her angrily. "Strip off."

"W-wh…" Celia stopped herself just in time, fearful of the man's temper in spite of him proclaiming he did not want her marked. With trembling fingers, Celia began unlacing her dress, tears pouring down her face as she fumbled with the task.

"Fer gawds sake!" the pirate captain snapped, batting her fingers away and undressing her himself, until she stood before him, naked.

Celia burned with mortification and tried to cover herself with her hands, feeling sick at the look of lust in the man's small, beady eyes.

"Yer won't fetch anythin' if you have her," Syndony reminded him, an edge to her voice as she watched Stockton's eyes devour the young virgin standing before him. "Come here and I'll pleasure you better than she could ever imagine." She sashayed over to where he stood and wound herself around him, her thigh rubbing against his straining erection.

"But I would be the first," the pirate rasped, clenching his fists as he fought down the urge to touch Celia, the scar which ran down his face standing out as the blood raced through his veins.

"And then what?" Syn purred in his ear, flicking her tongue across it. "They wouldn't want inexperienced, they'd want untouched… how about you an' me show her what to expect, eh?" she chuckled.

Davy Stockton moaned out loud at the thought of Celia watching as he had Syndony in front of her and went to fetch another rope with which to bind her once more.

…


	8. Chapter 8

Usual disclaimers – pah!

Thank you for your reviews and comments – you know you _love_ cliffhangers really… ;) Mind you, that's not what I say to Starlight 8/Boshomengro when _she _leaves it on a cliffie! With thanks to Kat for her suggestions.

Sorry if you get two alerts for this - I realised I had to change something _after_ I had posted it up!

…

**Chapter Eight**

Ethan Penhallick frowned as the _Serpent_ approached Tortuga harbour. He knew something was wrong but could not quite put his finger on what. He glanced at Jargo Teague who was also frowning.

"I dunno, Sir," his right hand man shrugged, not needing to hear the question. "There ain't no ships about fer a start, an' haven't been since yesterday."

"The chain hasn't been drawn up," Penhallick mused, knowing that this soon past dawn, the harbour chain should still be in place.

"Mister Penhallick!" the watchman called from the topmast yard. "Th'mansion's gone!"

"_What_?" Penhallick exploded. "What the fuck do you mean, gone?"

"It's been burned to th'ground, Sir."

…

"Bloody hell," Jack Sparrow swore as a keen eared crewman relayed to him the exchange on the ship ahead of the _Black Pearl_. "Burned to th'ground?"

"Aye, Cap'n, that's what he said."

"What's happened, d'you reckon?" Joshamee Gibbs enquired.

"I don't know," Jack replied absently, his mind racing with thoughts and ideas. "My informant was keen for Penhallick ter be involved in this. I wonder…"

"If he was fed the information by whoever attacked, in order that Ethan be out of town when they did?"

"Precisely that, Mister Gibbs," Jack nodded. "But best we keep _that_ idea to ourselves, eh? Don't want Penhallick ter be havin' th'wrong idea."

"No," the portly quartermaster agreed heartily. "That is the last thing we need. I hope young Celia is all right," he frowned.

"Celia? Bloody hell!" Jack swore. He had almost forgotten about the young woman in the excitement of the past week or so. Jack idly wondered why he found the former novice so interesting, but turned his attention away from her when he saw Ethan Penhallick hailing him from the _Serpent_.

"Jack! It looks as though the town's been attacked," the pirate king called.

"So I gather," Jack replied, making for the bow in order for easier conversation. "Who do you reckon could have done it?"

"Take your pick," Penhallick snorted. "Could have been Rackham, Smythe, LaFitte – anyone."

"What are you goin' ter do?"

"See what's what before I decide. The thing is, Jack, there might be trouble. Would you and your crew be willing to come ashore and help me quell any trouble?"

Jack stroked his beard braids thoughtfully, eyeing up his friend and ally. "It'll cost you," he called, eventually. "I'm not riskin' my men for your trouble, Ethan."

"I'll see you right," Penhallick sighed, shaking his head and hoping that he would have enough money left to make good his debt. If not… Penhallick shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind.

…

"Whoever it was, certainly did a good job," John Orchard observed as a group of _Black Pearl_ men stalked the streets, weapons raised, on the look-out for trouble. But so far, none had been forthcoming.

"Aye, didn't they just," Joshamee Gibbs agreed. "I dread to think how many ships they destroyed in the harbour." He and the crew could not believe the amount of flotsam in the port, and the two ships had had to carefully inch their way in for fear of the wrecks of other ships tearing through their hulls.

"Jack! Jack Sparrow!" The men whirled round at the sound of a woman's voice and gasped in surprise when Aggie flew along the street towards them. "Where is he?"

"Th'Cap'n's comin' up behind," Jacob Sumner informed her. "Why d'ya want him?" He looked askance as the whore fled past him and down the hill to the docks.

"Blimey! She needs it bad," Matthias Swain quipped, nudging the man next to him, who grinned in return.

Jack looked up, arching an eyebrow as he saw Aggie running hell for leather towards him, catching her when she realised she was going too fast to halt and spun her around to face him. "Where's th'fire?" he drawled, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"They've got her!" Aggie gasped, struggling to regain her breath. "Ya've got ter help her!"

"Who, and who?" Jack grinned, still tickled by the whore's theatrics.

"Celia," she panted. "Davy Stockton…"

"Bugger!" Jack swore, the smile wiped from his face. "When?"

"Th'day yer sailed. Ya've got ter go an' find her," Aggie demanded.

"If Stockton's got her, then it's _far_ too late ter save her," Jack sighed. "I don't even know where he is, anyway."

"Yer know he sails from Port-au-Prince – even _I_ know he sails from Port-au-Prince!" she shouted, shoving Jack hard in the chest. "Yer don't care, do ya? Yer wanted ter be th'first ter fuck her an' now that ya won't get that _honour_, yer not interested! I thought you were different, Sparrow – I thought yer had integrity. Well, I was wrong!"

"Whoa!" Jack protested, holding up his hands in surrender. "Stockton's had her fer over a week. I doubt very much that she's still alive," he said gently, placing his hands on the woman's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Aggie, I really am. But there's nothin' I can do fer Celia."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," came Penhallick's voice from behind them both. "It seems, according to my maid, Margaret, that Syn betrayed me. She threw in her lot with Stockton an' showed him where I stored some of my wealth," he sighed. "Bloody bitch! But at least she didn't know where I keep _most _of it! Anyway, it also seems that she told Stockton that Celia's a virgin. He'll sell her to the higest possible bidder, even if it means hanging on to her for a while."

"How does this Margaret know all this?" Jack wondered pensively. "Why wasn't she taken?"

"She went back for Celia – Syn had made the girl stay back to help her pack her bloody dresses! Can you believe the woman? Margaret managed to hide in a secret passageway and she overheard it all."

"See!" Aggie pushed. "There's a chance…"

"Doesn't mean I have ter take it," Jack defended.

"Then yer th'biggest bastard of th'lot!" Aggie spat, pushing past both men and storming back up the hill. "An' I'll make sure all th'girls know what a fuckin' bastard yer are!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Yer'll never get another shag in this town again, Sparrow!"

"Cap'n!" Joshamee Gibbs panted as he trotted towards them, avoiding going anywhere near the screaming whore. "Celia's been taken! I've just been talking to Sarah, Mister Penhalligan's cook."

"Oh God, not you as well…" Jack groaned, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air.

"It seems you're outnumbered, Jack," Ethan remarked. "Thanks for your help. It looks as though there's no-one left to cause any trouble."

"My recompense?" Jack enquired, regarding his companion expectantly.

"It may be a few days or even weeks before I can pay you," Penhallick shrugged apologetically.

"Fair enough," Jack nodded evenly, even though both men knew that he would not be forgettin the debt. "Mister Gibbs, round up th'men an' we'll be on our way."

"But they haven't had any leave," the quartermaster protested. "There'll be trouble - and what about Celia…?"

"I doubt there are many girls left in town, there's nowhere ter get supplies nor th'sails mended – we move on. There's nothin' I can do for th'girl," Jack snapped, his patience at an end.

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs muttered before turning on his heel and heading back towards the centre of the wrecked town.

…

Jack sat in his cabin, nursing a mug of rum but not drinking it. By the time his quartermaster had managed to round up the crew, it was too dark to risk sailing out of Tortuga harbour with the wrecks of the other ships lying on the sea-bed. His crew had glared sullenly at him and Gibbs had not spoken a word to him once they returned to the ship, and Jack knew it was more than just the cancelled leave that irked the portly man. He guessed that Gibbs had met up with Aggie and that the whore had told his quartermaster about the exchange between them. Jack sighed deeply, bringing the mug to his lips before slamming it down on the oak table without drinking from it. "Damn!" he swore out loud, trying not to think about Celia and what she might be going through. "It's folly ter go after her," he muttered. "Far too late…"

"Wake up, bitch!"

Celia's eyes snapped open at the sound of the harsh voice and she squinted in the bright sunlight as the sailcloth that covered the cage she was in on the deck of the _Sea's Cutlass_, was thrown back.

"D'ya want somethin' ter eat?" the voice taunted her. "Drink?"

"Drink, please," Celia gasped, her throat sore through lack of liquid.

"Give us a suck of yer teat, an' yer can have a drink," the voice laughed, and a hand shot through the bars of the cage and grasped her breast.

"Get off," she shrieked, pushing the hand away. "Leave me alone." For a week now, Celia had been shut naked, in a cage on the deck, her only protection being the sail, which was thrown over the cage to stop her gettin tanned - apparently, she was worth far more to her captor if she was pale skinned. And the crew had had their fun with her. Grabbing whatever part of her body they could reach, and unlacing their breeches and doing disgusting things through the bars which left her sick with revulsion and fear.

"Give her th'drink!" Stockton bellowed as he emerged from his cabin. "She's no use ter me if she dies, yer fuckin' idiot!"

Celia grabbed the beaker of watery ale before the crewman could do anything and gulped it down, not stopping until every last drop was finished. "C-can I have s-some more, p-please?" she asked meekly, relief flooding over her as Stockton nodded his head. She looked apprehensively as the captain approached the cage and shook violently as he opened it.

"Out!" he ordered, jerking his thumb.

"P-please," she begged, terrified that he was going to force her to do things to him again. Dirty, un-natural things, that made her die inside.

"Oh, don't you worry, my sweet," he mocked. "Yer goin' to be treated like a queen today." He pushed her roughly towards his cabin, looking daggers at a couple of his men who went to touch Celia.

"Not so high an' mighty now, are we?" Syndony remarked scornfully, looking Celia up and down as the former noivce entered the cabin. "Thought you were better than anyone else, didn't yer? Well, you ain't no more."

"I will _always _be better than you," Celia whispered defiantly.

"You little…!" Syndony flew across the cabin, hand raised as if to strike the younger woman, but Stockton was too quick and grabbed her wrist, making the madame yelp with pain.

"You will not mark her," he growled menecingly, pushing her violently away. "You," he barked at Celia. "Go an' get dressed – in there." He indicated a side cabin, disinterestedly before changing his mind and going to stand in the doorway as Celia picked up a dress of the finest dark blue silk.

"Y-you want me to wear this?" she asked incredulously. "Why?"

"Because today, my little nun, you are goin' ter be sold to th'highest bidder. An' then…" Stockton walked towards her, a lecherous smile on his lips. "Then yer'll wish you were still on board with me," he chuckled, running the back of his hand down her cheek and continuing down until it grazed her nipple.

Celia gulped, trying hard not to cry in front of the despicable man and she turned away so Stockton could not see her tears of shame and terror, and pulled the now hated dress on.

"Let me do yer laces," he purred in her ear as he pulled the cords at the back of the dress tightly, accentuating her voluptuous figure.

"You will rot in hell," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I just hope it's soon."

"Ooh, our timid little nun has bite," he laughed. "Maybe I _should _keep ya fer myself – break ya in, eh?"

"I would sooner die," Celia snarled, pulling away from him.

"There will be far worse than me out there, today," Stockton shrugged. "After I've made what I can from yer, ya can do what yer like." He roved his eyes appreciately over her once more before turning and striding from the cabin.

"Stupid cow," Syndony goaded. "All yer preaching and piety, an' look where it's got you."

"I'm being forced to be like you, what's your excuse?" Celia sniped, a half smile on her face as the other woman looked about to explode, but the smile faded as half a dozen crewmen came into the cabin, three heading for her and three for Syndony.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you fools!" Syndony screeched, struggling as they went to drag her from the cabin. "She's the one being sold!"

"As are you," came Stockton's voice from the main deck. "Yer good, Syn, but not good enough fer me ter want ter keep ya."

"You bastard!" she cried, trying in vain to escape the clutches of the men. "I hate you!"

"Not what ya said last night," the pirate crowed, winking at his crewmen who joined in the raucous laughter.

Celia followed quietly behind, knowing it was useless to put up a struggle. What was going to happen would happen, whether she fought like a cat or not. She idly wondered whether to _accidently_ cut herself - make her appearance less attractive, but realised desolately that it wasn't her appearance that made her saleable. The sight of other women who had been captured and held in the hull, where they were obviously used and abused by the men, brought fresh tears to her eyes and she prayed for them, prayed that they would somehow find some escape from the wretched situation which they had all found themselves in. But Celia was starting to think that prayers did not work any more, or that God had turned away from her.

"Wait!" Stockton ordered as she was about to climb on to the bosun's chair. Celia flinched as he approached her and pulled something from his coat pocket, placing it around her neck. "There," he smirked as her rosary nestled in her clevage. "Sets it off nicely."

Celia did not know whether to laugh or cry at the return of her beads, so decided to draw some comfort from the familiar feeling of them, working them in her fingers as the chair was lowered to a boat, waiting to take her to her fate.

…

"Come on," Davy Stockton urged the crowd gathered at L'Ancre Bleu. "She's a bone fide virgin, fer gawds sake! She's worth more than thirty guineas, surely?"

"Thirty one," a voice called at the back of the room amidst murmurings, some of agreement, some of dissent.

"Thirty one guineas t'be th'first ter plough her? Yer insult me, Captain Clarke." Stockton was feeling desperate. He had spread word around for the past week about the sale, and although it was well attended, the men seemed reluctant to spend their money – he had not made half as much as he had hoped and now there was just his star lot, Celia, left and he badly wanted to recoup his losses through her.

"Forty doubloon," came another voice from the side of the makeshift stage on which Stockton and Celia, plus a couple of crewmen, were standing.

"That's not much more than I offered," the first voice protested.

"No, but it is more," Stockton declared. "Any other bids?"

"One hundred guineas," another voice drawled and the room gasped with shock.

"One hundred?" Stockton spluttered.

"That is what I offered, is it not?"

"Any more offers?" Stockton enquired hopefully. "Sold, to…?"

…

Celia was aware in the deep corners of her mind, to where she had retreated, that she was being dragged from the stage and guessed that she had been sold. She surpressed a shudder and tried to draw back again but the trance had been broken and she became more aware of the commotion going on around her as she was bustled towards someone.

"I'll be havin' th'dress back," Stockton informed her buyer as they reached him.

"I'll send it over before I sail."

"Here's yer virgin, then," the pirate chuckled, pushing Celia towards the man, frowning as she promptly fainted at his feet.

…

Oops – another cliffie… (looks innocent – and fails miserably…)

Forty dubloon is slightly less than 30 guineas


	9. Chapter 9

_Please_ can I have him? Sigh…

Many thanks for your reviews, although I don't think I'll be getting on the wrong side of PirateAurora – she might send me to the cage! ;) Thank you for your kind words, Richgal – they are appreciated. Greeneyedgoddess – I'm afraid the lurvefest won't be for quite some time – if at all… Mab – it's a good job Jack isn't your average pirate then!

…

**Chapter nine:**

Celia woke with a start, shrinking away as she became aware of someone pproaching her.

"It's all right, luv. You're safe now."

"C-Captain Sparrow?" she stammered, looking around and realising she was in his bunk in his cabin.

"Aye, larger than life," Jack grinned, spreading his arms out. "Have a drink." He sat down on the bunk and held out a beaker, taking it back off her as her shaking hands were in danger of spilling the entire contents, and held it to her lips, tipping it back gently.

"Urgh!" Celia spluttered, coughing and choking. "It's vile!"

"It'll do you good," Jack chuckled, holding the container up again, tipping it slower to ensure some actually went down her throat.

"I… why? How?" she gabbled, staring wildly at him.

"Never mind all that, just sleep, eh?" Jack smiled to himself as her eyes drooped, silently sending thanks to the ship's doctor for the draught he had mixed in with the rum, which would give the girl a restful sleep. '_Gawd knows, she needs it_,' he thought ruefully, looking at her pale, drawn face before settling himself in his chair that he had brought into the side cabin so he could keep an eye on her, still trying in vain to ignore the growing feeling he had towards the young woman.

"Cap'n?" came Joshamee Gibbs' voice as he crept through the main cabin. "How is she?"

"Distressed," the younger man sighed. "She looks like she hasn't eaten properly fer the last week or so."

"Probably hasn't – the bastard!"

"Aye," Jack nodded. "But she's in better state than some of th'women he was sellin' – except Syn."

"He sold Syndony?" Gibbs gasped, eyes agog.

"Yes," Jack grinned sardonically. "I reckon he had to drug her as she was quiet as a mouse an' looked out of it."

"Heaven help the poor sod who brought her."

"I can't wait ter tell Ethan," the captain of the _Black Pearl_ chuckled. "Make his day that will…"

…

"N-no!" Celia shied away, tears streaming down her face. "Not again," she whispered as he unlaced his breeches and freed his hard member.

"I can't have you," he sneered. "But you can have me – now on yer knees."

"Celia… Celia…"

Celia gasped fearfully and lashed out, striking someone hard. Her eyes shot open and she gasped again to see Jack Sparrow recoiling from her blow. "What were you doing?" she demanded, her heart pounding with terror.

"You were havin' a nightmare," he informed her, rubbing his jaw gingerly. "I was tryin' ter wake you."

"Oh." She shuddered as the dream came back to her and bit her lip in an attempt not to cry.

"You're safe now," Jack soothed, sitting on the edge of the bunk. "No-one's goin' ter hurt you, savvy?"

"W-where are we?" she stammered.

"Still in Port-au-Prince – there's a storm brewin' an' I don't fancy riskin' life, limb an' my ship."

"When will we leave?" she asked in a pleading tone. "He might kidnap me again!" Celia gulped down a sob and drew the covers around her neck as if that would protect her. "_Please_ can we leave?"

Jack shook his head. "No, luv," he said gently. "He won't take you again – he'd have ter kill th'whole ship first, eh?"

"He took on a whole town and won!" Celia shouted. "A whole bloody town!" she swore without even realising she had done so.

"A relatively undefended town. Penhallick isn't king of Tortuga just fer show, you know." Jack sighed. "We'll leave the minute th'storm's over, savvy?"

"It could be hours."

"Aye, it could," he agreed. "But there's nothin' ter be done, so I'll get th'cook ter send some food up an' perhaps some hot water so you can wash." He stood and went to leave the side cabin.

"All right, thank you." she finally conceeded. "Captain Sparrow?"

"Yes, luv?" Jack stopped and turned back to face her.

"D-did you… undress me?" she whispered.

"Aye," he told her softly. "But I didn't touch you, savvy?"

"All right," she nodded, gulping once more but believing him.

Jack continued on his way, using the errand as an excuse to see what the weather conditions were and to check over his ship, making sure the crew had battened down the hatches and stowed the sails. His keen weather sense told him it was going to be a bad storm.

…

Celia felt her stomach heave and she bent over the pail once more, fetching up what little contents were left in her stomach.

"If it's any comfort," Jack drawled as he entered the cabin and saw her on the floor, covered with a blanket and retching into a slop bucket. "There are seasoned sailors out there doin' exactly th'same as you. Just be thankful we're _not_ at sea."

"It is no comfort," she gasped, pushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "Surely it can't get any worse?"

"I'm afraid it can," he chuckled wryly, clinging to the mizzenmast as the ship listed and rolled sending water seeping through the bottom of the door.

"Oh no," Celia groaned. "I'll die if this keeps up."

"Ah," Jack mused, waving a hand in front of him. "People always fear they're goin' ter die when they have th'mal de mar, then after a day or so they fear they _won't_ die!"

"I can well believe it," she moaned, clutching her stomach. "How long with this last?"

"Depends on th'person an' th'weather."

"Wonderful!" she remarked before thrusting her head into the pail once more.

"I'll leave you to it, Miss Hammond," Jack grinned, turning and weaving and swaying his way back out of the cabin.

"Bloody weather!" Oliver Fernan cursed as Jack climbed the steps carefully to the quarterdeck. "Can't wait ter get away from this bleedin'Frenchie town."

"You're not the only one," Jack replied, raising his voice to be heard over the wind and rain which was lashing down.

"How's th'girl?"

"Her thoughts have turned ter dyin'," Jack grinned, water running rivulets down his face.

"Ah," the Irishman nodded sagely. "She's on t'mend then?"

"Aye," Jack laughed. "Whoa!" He skittered along the deck, grabbing hold of the rigging to stop himself as a wave swamped the decks and pitched his ship once more.

"Might be an idea ter tie a line on, Cap'n," Oliver suggested, holding up a rope which was tied around his own midriff.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Jack panted, clinging to the rail as he made his way back to his crewman who was tying another length of rope to the helm. "I just hope this blows over sooner rather than later."

"Pity Stockton's ship don't sink," the crewman lamented. "Couldn't happened ter a better bastard."

"If yer believe what Celia preaches, he'll get his just deserts in hell," Jack replied as he tied the rope around his middle.

"Yer not a believer, Cap'n?" the Irishman enquired as if it were a normal occurrence to have a conversation in the middle of a tropical storm.

"I've seen far too many things ter believe," Jack replied, casting his mind over a few of the things he had seen, and shuddering involuntarily as the skeletial form of Barbossa flitted through his mind. "Far too many things," he muttered, more to himself. "When's yer shift up?"

"Not fer another half an hour," Oliver groaned. "Then Myles can have th'helm."

"You go," Jack offered. "No use in both of us stayin' out here in this."

"Ya sure, Cap'n? Thanks," he grinned, untying his rope and making his way carefully to the hatch and the relative comfort below decks.

Jack sighed and wiped his eyes, trying to clear the rain from them so he could check that all was as well as it could be with his precious _Pearl_. He turned his thoughts to the young girl in his cabin, still unsure as to how or why he rescued her. He had intended to sail to San Juan for supplies but instead found himself ordering Myles Burford to make for Port-au-Prince instead, and much to his consternation, his crew had not murmured one word of dissent. '_They must realise I'm goin' soft_,' he bemoaned, shaking his head and sending raindrops scattering. '_That's what make you Jack Sparrow_,' another voice reasoned and Jack grinned to himself as he settled into a relatively comfortable position standing by the lashed helm.

…

Celia looked around the cabin with bleary eyes, slowly becoming aware that the ship was not rocking to and fro and the rain had ceased hammering a drum beat on the deck. She eased herself from the cabin deck gingerly, her cramped muscles screaming in protest at the movement and she shivered, the damp blanket making her feel cold, but she would not shed it and leave herself naked as she made her way to the stern windows, peering out and marvelling at the strong sunshine.

"You're up an' about, then?" Jack drawled as he pushed open the cabin doors. "Feelin' better?"

"Not really," she shrugged ruefully. "I feel as weak as a newborn lamb."

"Pellew's cookin' some food, once he get's th'galley stove lit again. Do you want an apple ter tide you over?"

"Yes please," Celia agreed eagerly, her eyes widening as Jack opened a small chest and pulled out two apples, tossing one to her and munching the other himself. Thank you," she acknowledged, hugging the blanket around herself.

"I've sorted you some clothes out," Jack told her. "They're men's clothes, I'm afraid – got no dresses in th'hold at th'moment."

"Oh. What about… the dress I was wearing?" Celia gulped as the recollection of putting the dress on came back to haunt her.

"That has ter be returned," Jack told her gently, for the garment obviously brought back painful memories for her.

"Good," Celia breathed. "I don't think I could face wearing that again," she shuddered.

"Th'clothes are in th'side cabin if yer want to dress," he suggested, smiled as the young woman waddled across the cabin, still hugging the damp blanket tightly to her.

"Where have these come from?" Celia called as she eyed the garments suspiciously. She had never worn breeches before but reasoned that a shirt would not be so different to a blouse and picked them up, carrying them to the private head.

"One of th'lads," Jack told her, his voice sounding rather too near for Celia's liking. "Just until we arrive in Tortuga."

"We're going back?" she gasped delightedly, dropping the blanket around her feet and putting the shirt on, fumbling with the buttons and frowning as she realised that it did not fasten all the way to the collar. In fact, it did not fasten anywhere near the collar and Celia peered down, horrified at how much of her chest was exposed. "I-I don't suppose there is another shirt I could wear – this one is… not suitable."

"It's th'smallest one on board," came Jack's voice, a suspicious amount of humour in it. "All th'others would have been too big an' not preserved your modesty…"

"I see," Celia remarked dryly, not beliving him for one moment. She hesitantly picked the breeches up, eyeing them as if they were about to burst into life, before pushing one leg through and then the other, yanking them up and hating the feel of them instantly. She tied the laces and pulled the seat of the garment down, trying to get comfortable in them and failing miserably.

"You all done?"

"Yes," Celia sighed, pulling open the drapes and stepping out into the side cabin, jumping as she saw Jack lying on the bunk, hands behind his head and a smirk on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Takin' th'weight of my feet," he grinned. "It's a hard life being captain."

"I'm sure it is," she replied, arching his eyebrow at him. "When will we be leaving?"

"Within th'hour," Jack promised. "Just waitin' fer th'last of th'supplies, then I'll send th'dress back…" he observed her carefully as she shivered involuntarily, wondering if she was still a virgin or if Stockton had raped her and hoped to get away with passing her off as untouched, but thought it best not to ask – not yet anyway. "I have an idea," he grinned, a mischivous gleam in his eyes. Jack walked to a chest in the main cabin, a curious Celia following behind, and opened it, retriving the blue silk gown and hanging it from the bulwark. He took a small dagger from his sword belt and handed it to Celia, hilt first.

"W-what do you want me to do with that?" she asked uncertainly.

"Pretend that dress is him," he suggested. "I told him I'd have it returned, I just never said in what state…"

"Oh. Oh, I couldn't possibly… could I?" Celia looked from the dress to the dagger and finally to the pirate captain who was watching her closely.

"That's up to you," Jack shrugged. "But it might help…"

Celia tried hard to push away all the thoughts that flooded her mind, all the things she had seen and been forced to do on board Stockton's ship, and she took the dagger and slashed it down the dress, giving in to her anger. Again and again she tore through the delicate material until it was in shreds.

"That'll do," Jack prompted, holding her wrist gently as she brought her arm back for another attack. "I think he'll receive th'message, savvy?"

Celia dropped the dagger which fell to the cabin deck with a clatter and tried to pull away from Jack's grip but he tightened his hold on her and turned her around to face him. "Let me go," she whispered, frantically wiping the tears which were streaming down her face with her free hand. She found herself being drawn towards him and after an initial struggle, Celia buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

…


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimers – pah!

Many thanks for your reviews, although they are like sex with Jack – you can never have too much! ;)

Richgal – I always put in some referrence to apples in my stories if I can.

Mz. Ellis – I never thought to correct it to _Captain_ Jack Sparrow – hehehe!

With thanks to Kat for editing.

Sorry it's been so long – RL gets in the way too much!

…

**Chapter Ten:**

The following day

"Port ho!"

Jack stood next to the helmsman, Oliver Fernan, as he steered the large ship towards the harbour entrance of Tortuga, the sound of the harbour chain being lowered breaking the relative silence.

"Penhallick's obviously takin' no chances," the helmsman observed.

"Pity he didn't think of that before," Jack remarked. "It would have saved us a lot of trouble."

"There weren't too much trouble," the crewman argued good naturedly. "Only th'storm an' at least we were in shelter durin' that."

"Aye," his captain acknowledged. "Th'men didn't mind goin' ter Port-au-Prince?"

"Nah. It were somewhere different," Oliver shrugged. "An' we saved th'lass."

Right on cue, Celia opened the cabin door and peered out before taking a hesitant step onto the main deck. She had only ventured out from the cabin once, and the curious and somewhat lewd stares of the crewmen soon had her scurrying back inside, much to Jack's consternation.

"Celia, pet," Joshamee Gibbs beamed, offering her his arm. "It's good to see you."

"Thank you, Mister Gibbs," Celia smiled shyly. "I'm just relieved to be home."

"Aye, and at least you know your friends are safe."

"Yes, thank the Lord." She dutifully followed as the older man lead the way up the quarterdeck steps and she glanced at Jack, standing by the helm, seemingly concentrating on the path of the ship as she sailed serenely into the port. "I can't wait to see them again."

"At least Aggie'll be grateful ter ya, Cap'n" Matthias Swain laughed from on the rigging. "Maybe she'll give yer a free go, eh?"

"That'd be th'day," Jack snorted, smiling to himself as Celia blushed and looked a little disgruntled, he hoped with the idea of him and Aggie, rather than the coarse subject which his crewman had brought up. "Gettin' your sea-legs yet?" he asked the young woman as she tentatively made her way towards him.

"Yes, just about," she smiled. "But it's not as if I need them for much longer now that I'm back in Tortuga, is it?"

"Would you like ter steer her home?"

"Pardon?" Celia asked, eyes agog. "I can't…"

"I'll take th'helm, Mister Fernan. Come on, luv." Jack moved into position by the helm and made space for Celia to get between him and the wheel. He took her hands and placed them on the spokes, covering them with his own and pressed his body close to hers, a broad grin on his face as she shifted uncomfortably, inadvertently brushing her buttocks against his groin and making him moan softly.

"Is it necessary to stand so close to me?" she croaked, feeling panicked by the warm sensation that his presence was causing within her.

"Very necessary," Jack whispered huskily in her ear. "There's a few wrecks in th'harbour, don't want you ter steer th'wrong way now, do we?"

"Then maybe I shouldn't be steering at all, Captain Sparrow."

"Celia, luv," he sighed. "I know I like people ter remember my full title, but you _can_ call me Jack from time to time, eh?"

"To call you Jack would mean a degree of familiarity and I do _not_ intend being familiar with you, _Captain_ Sparrow!" she hissed, aware of sniggers coming from nearby crewmen.

"Never say never," he quipped. "You don't know what's around th'next corner."

"I know that I won't be offering myself to you by way of thanks," Celia sniped, trying once more to move away from the nearness of him and frowning as he pressed himself against her once more. "If you don't desist, I shall move," she warned crossly.

"You've got ter escape my clutches first," Jack chuckled, his hot breath tickling her ear and making her shiver with revulsion, or so she told herself.

"Cap'n. There's a warnin' bouy in th'harbour!" Elliot Deane called from his watch position at the bowsprit.

"Very well," Jack sighed reluctantly. "You can have th'helm back, Fernan," he told the helmsman, releasing his hold on Celia who darted quickly away, and down the steps to the main cabin.

"Aye, Cap'n," Oliver replied, moving back to his position to steer the large vessel skillfully into the harbour.

Jack followed Celia to his cabin, regarding her as she stared out of the stern windows, intent on totally ignoring him. "Have you got any dresses of your own at Aggie's?" he enquired.

"Yes, a couple, why?" she finally asked, standing to face him.

"Because you're going ter be needin' them on board, that's why. Young Mister Deane will be wantin' his clothes back."

"On board? What do you mean, on board?" Celia demanded, her voice edgy. "I shall be going back to live with Aggie and Giselle and working for Mister Penhallick, I hope."

"'Fraid not," Jack shook his head. "You're stayin' on board with me."

"I do not think so, Captain Sparrow!" the young woman exploded. "You have no right to keep me here."

"Ah, but I do," he smiled, wagging a finger at her then pressing it against his lips. "I bought you so to all intents and purposes, I own you, Celia," Jack smirked.

"Y-you _what_? Y-you can't own me," Celia whispered incredulously. "I was… _am_ not a slave."

"I somehow don't think you'd be havin' this conversation if someone else had bought you," he reasoned. "Just because I did, doesn't make th'situation any different."

"That's what this is all about, isn't it? You had no regard for my wellbeing at all did you, Jack? It was just so that you can have your way with me." She spun around, not wanting to face him any longer.

"Ah, Jack now is it? Funny that seeing as I am technically your _master_, you suddenly see fit ter call me Jack." He moved closer so that Celia could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, making her shudder once more and curse herself for being affected by his nearness. "An' I _will_ have you, Miss Hammond."

"Then you are no better than any other pirate," Celia spat. "Than… _him_," she shuddred, trying hard not to think of Davy Stockton.

"I didn't say I would force you," Jack reminded her. "Just that I will have you - that you will give yourself freely to me."

"It will be a cold day in hell before that happens," she sniped, moving away from him and feeling almost bereft of his presence.

"I am a patient man," he purred as he closed in again, brushing his lips against her ear and smiling to himself as he felt her react once more.

"How dare you touch me," she hissed, turning to slap him, but Jack was too quick and he grasped her wrist in his hand. "Let go!"

"No." Jack pulled her in, taking her other hand in his lest she try and fight him off, and pressed his lips against hers, marvelling in their softness.

Celia struggled against him, one part of her mind telling her it was wrong and that she should not respond to him, another part delighting in the intimacy. Her brown eyes grew wide as his tongue probed gently inside her mouth, running along her teeth and twirling around her own tongue, and she fought harder, wincing as he tightened his grip on her until he suddenly pulled away, leaving the former novice flustered and panting.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" he whispered huskily, his eyes glinting with lust.

"You swine!" she spat, slapping him harder than Giselle ever had. "You lying, conniving bastard!"

"Cap'n," Thomas Frazer called from the main deck. "Yer needed…"

Jack frowned crossly at Celia before stomping out of his cabin, glowering at a couple of nearby crewmen who looked at him as he emerged, the snigger that was bubbling beneath the surface at the sound of the argument and the tell-tale red mark on his cheek, dying on their lips at his stare.

Celia sat down heavily on the stern seat, shaking. She put her fingers to her lips, gulping hard as she still tasted the pirate captain in her mouth. '_Owns me_?' she pondered to herself. '_What am I going to do_?' Celia subconsciously reached for her rosary beads and toyed with them as she stared at the cabin doors, waiting for Jack's return. "Oh, goodness!" she exclaimed aloud. "I swore at him!"

"Aye, you swore at me," Jack growled as he re-entered the cabin and marched over to where he kept his sword belt, snatching it up and putting it on, glancing up at Celia as he did. "Feel better for it?"

"N-no," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But what did you expect? First you tell me that you supposedly own me and that you intend having your wicked way with me, then you kiss me like… well, like _that_!"

"So you'd prefer I let someone else have brought you, eh? You can go into town, unaccompanied, to see your friends an' pack your belongings. But I expect you at th'wharf by first bell of the dog watch, savvy?" (4.30)

"And if I'm not?" Celia boldly enquired, gettin to her feet and scowling at him. "What if Mister Penhallick objects to you taking one of his servants off him?"

"_Mister_ Penhallick has other things on his mind, like keepin' this town together. B'sides, he doesn't have a mansion ter clean any more."

"Oh… but you _can't_ own me!" Celia protested. "It's not right. I'm not a slave, like Noah," she stated, referring to a crewman of Jack's who was a former slave.

"Neither's Noah, now," Jack shrugged.

"Stop being so… _pedantic_!"

"Can't help it, luv," he grinned sarcastically. "It's my only bad trait."

"Only? _Only_?" Celia spluttered, looking at the pirate incredulously. "You think rather too much of yourself!"

"I can't help being a handsome, lovable rogue, can I?" Jack teased, his anger dissipating as he started to enjoy winding the young woman up. "You'll be at th'dock at first bell?"

"You haven't told me what you'd do if I'm not," she sniped, folding her arms.

"Miss Hammond," Jack drawled, moving closer to her, his annoyance returning. "I may be genial, I may even be crazy, but do _not_ cross me, savvy?" he pressed, walking slowly around her and making her tremble further. "You can either promise me that you'll be waiting for th'boat, or you don't go ashore at all – your choice."

Celia blinked in the face of his anger, biting her lip to stop herself from crying. She did not want to obey the pirate, for it would mean admitting that he did own her, but she so desperately wanted to see that her friends were safe and well. She looked into his dark brown eyes, so like her own in colour, trying to read him – see if there was a chance that he was playing her along, but they were dark and devoid of emotion. "I-I'll be there," she finally whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. "First bell."

"Good girl," he nodded, not moving from her but continuing to circle slowly, drinking in her scent and trying to resist the urge to kiss her once more. He wanted the young girl more than ever now, but knew that if he wanted to have her willingly, he would have to tread carefully, not push her too hard.

"W-what do y-you intend me to do on board," Celia stammered, resigned to her fate.

"Can you cook?" he enquired, his breath brushing against her face. "Sew?"

"I-I can't cook," she confessed. "But I can sew – well, embroider, and I can clean, but you already know that."

"Embroidery's not much use on a ship, but I expect one of th'lads will teach you how ter mend sailcloth," Jack reasoned, his voice softer now. "An' th'decks always need swabbin'. I'll do a deal with you, Miss Hammond. Let's say that for every week's hard work you do on board, I shall deduct five pennies towards what I paid fer you so that in about a years time, you will have paid me back and you'll be free ter go, what say you ter that, eh?"

"A year?" Celia echoed, looking horrified. "Y-you want me to stay here for a year?"

"Of course, if you spread your pretty legs for me, I'll consider th'debt halved," he quipped, arching an eyebrow - half in jest, half in hope.

Celia shook her head incredulously, her mouth gaping open. "You… are the most…" she spluttered, indignantly. "I shall work off my debt, but I want it in writing that you will let me go. You _can_ write, can't you?" she asked acerbically.

Jack scowled and opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a knock on the cabin door. "Cap'n, th'boat's about ter go ashore."

"Your word that you'll return?" he asked Celia, regarding her closely.

"Your written word that I can go free?"

"We have an accord, Miss Hammond," Jack nodded, holding out his hand.

"First bell," Celia nodded, shaking on it.

…

"Celia!" Aggie shrieked, running along the street for all she was worth when she saw her friend. "Gawd! I heard yer were safe, but I didn't believe it." She threw her arms around the younger woman and they danced around, giggling and laughing.

"I was so worried for you," Celia breathed. "When I saw that you weren't amongst those… captured," she gulped, the image of the detained women flitting through her mind. "I feared the worst," she finished with a small smile.

"Not half as much as what I feared," Aggie shuddered, hugging her friend close. "Thank gawd fer Sparrow! Come on, let's get yer home."

"I won't be staying," Celia sighed, her shoulders drooping dejectedly.

"What d'ya mean, yer won't be stayin'?" Aggie demanded.

"Sparrow insists that he bought me, therefore I have to work for him for a year until I pay off what he forked out for me."

"He said _what_!" the whore exploded. "He can't fuckin' do that! Sorry, didn't mean ter swear," she apologised. "But he can't – yer not goin' an' that is that."

"Yes I am," Celia smiled, patting her friend's arm. "I gave my word. He let me come ashore to see you and to collect my belongings."

"Where're yer goin' ter stay?" Aggie grumbled. "Will I see yer at all?"

"I shall be staying on board the _Black Pearl_, and yes, I should imagine he will let me come ashore when they are in town."

"On board… an' just where are ya goin' ter sleep? Yer haven't…?"

"No! I most certainly haven't," Celia blushed, wondering if she should tell Aggie about the kiss. "And I don't know where I'm going to sleep," she pondered, chewing her lip.

"Where have yer been sleepin'? More ter th'point, where has _he_ been sleepin'?"

"I have been in his bunk," Celia confessed, blushing deeper. "I think Jack slept in a hammock, not that he's had much sleep with that storm."

"Jack…? I see…" Aggie nodded, a knowing look on her face.

"No, Aggie! I told you, it's not like that!"

"Methinks yer protest too much," the whore teased.

"Bloody hell! Celia!" The two women looked up to see Giselle and Scarlett outside a dockside tavern, the blonde busily adjusting her gown to expose even more cleavage. "Yer th'first I've ever heard of escapin' Stockton's clutches in one piece," Giselle remarked.

"I suppose I have Syndony to thank for that," Celia shrugged ruefully.

"Oh yeah! Is it true she was sold ter Simon Marlow?"

"I have no idea who she was sold to," Celia replied, shifting uncomfortably. "Only that she was sold."

"Serve th'fuckin' bitch right," Scarlett sniped, simpering as a group of men sauntered past, then going off with one of them as he beckoned her, leaving Giselle scowling in her wake.

"Come on, we'll get yer home an' yer can tell us all about what's happened," Aggie smiled, frowning as a shadow crossed Celia's face. "Well, as much as yer want ter tell us," she said softly, hugging Celia's arm to her.

"Thank you," Celia whispered gratefully, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can't wait to be home again, even if it is only for a short while."

"Ah, yer know how often th'_Pearl_ is anchored, we'll see as much as ya as before," Aggie assured her.

"No, actually, I don't know how often the _Pearl_ is anchored," Celia shrugged. "But I have a feeling it's quite often."

"Oh yes," Giselle put in. "_Very_ often!"

…

Ethan Penhallick looked at the pirate sitting at the other side of the table located in a snug in the Faithful Bride and raised his eyebrows. "Simon Marlow?" he asked, incredulously. "What th'hell did he buy her for?"

"He's always cast envious eyes towards you," Jack reasoned. "I reckon he thought that if he had your woman…"

"_Former_ woman," Penhallick reminded him.

"Former woman," Jack corrected, placing his hands together and bowing his head. "He might think that he's on th'way ter becoming pirate king himself," he mused as Penhallick snorted with derision and shook his head.

"I know, I know," Jack soothed, holding his hand up. "A cat's chance in hell, but you know Marlow. Always had ideas above his station."

"I'll just have ter knock him off his perch, then," Penhallick threatened.

"Nah, I'd leave him – at least until he shows signs of tryin' ter take over. I'll keep a weather eye on him, savvy?"

"All right, thanks. Now, here's what I owe you for your troubles," the pirate king smiled, pushing a large leather pouch across the table. "At least there was no trouble for your men to quell."

"Thank you," Jack nodded, pocketing the purse and gettin to his feet. "See you around."

"Aye, that you will, Jack."

…

Jack took the watch from his pocket and glanced at it, hoping it was somewhere near accurate. He had been inordinately pleased when he found it during the plunder of a Dutch ship, but soon realised that it did not keep very good time. If the watch was correct, it would soon be time for Celia to wait by the docks and Jack wanted to check to see if she arrived on time, if at all. He sauntered down the street and took a short cut through an alleyway, arriving just the other side of the wharf, and he leaned against the wall of a house, cleaning out his fingernails with the tip of his short dagger as he watched and waited.

Celia walked the short distance to the quay, carrying a sack which housed her meagre belongings. Aggie had tried in vain to disuade her from going, saying that the girls would refuse every _Pearl_ man, but Celia had shaken her head. A promise was a promise, she had told her friend, and she was not about to go back on her word. In truth, she was also a little afraid of what the pirate would do if she did not show up on time, even if he had shown no signs of being nasty and vindictive like most of the other pirates she had encountered during her time in the Caribbean . She looked about forlornly at the deserted wharf – not even a boat in the water waiting for her and she frowned, looking about and seeing no-one. '_That's strange_,' she thought to herself, placing the sack down.

"Right on time, Miss Hammond," Jack drawled, coming out from where he had been standing.

"I-I gave you my word," she stammered, placing her hand on her chest in an effort to still her pounding heart. "Tell me, Captain, why have you gone all formal on me, now that you _own_ me?" She arched an eyebrow as Jack chuckled ruefully.

"You're quite right, _Celia_" he nodded, his beads and braids bobbing up and down with the movement.

"Two things," she enquired. "Firstly, where am I to sleep?"

"I knew you were goin' ter ask me that!" Jack grinned. "You can have th'hammock an' I'll have my bunk – unless you want ter share?" he winked laciviously.

"I see," Celia replied, looking acerbically at him when he had said exactly what she expected him to say. "I'll have the hammock."

"Secondly?"

"Secondly, what am I to call you?"

Jack pondered the question for a moment, stroking his beard braids thoughtfully, before nodding his head and smiling. "Captain in front of crew, Jack in private, savvy?"

"All right," Celia agreed. "Thank you."

"I knew this damn watch wasn't working properly," Jack cursed, taking the offending object from his pocket and glaring at it angrily. "Unless th'men are late, in which case I'll have their guts fer bloody garters."

"I am early," Celia admitted. "The girls were ready to go to work and I didn't see the point in hanging around."

"Here comes th'boat. You can send your things over an' stay ashore if you like."

"Pardon? But I thought…?"

"I wanted ter see if you'd keep to your word an' you have, so if you want ter spend th'evening with your friends, yer quite welcome ter do so."

"Oh. I think I'll go on board, if you don't mind? As I said, the girls are busy, and my friends from the mansion have their families to go back to and I'd be intruding."

"As you wish," Jack shrugged. "But I won't be there until mornin'."

"Oh. I see."

"Is there a problem, Celia? Or perhaps you were thinkin' of halvin' your debt to me, already," he chuckled.

"N-no," she gulped. "I-I think I will be staying at Aggie's after all." Celia turned from the dock and hurried along the street, desperate to get away from the pirate, lest he see her panic.

"Eh?" Jack wondered, looking from where she had disappeared to, to the approaching boat. "Take her belongin's back ter th'ship," he ordered Matthias Swain and Noah Trinity, before running after her.

Celia gasped with panic as she heard footsteps running behind her and sped up, muttering a prayer as she ran. She screamed as someone grabbed her from behind and spun her around and almost sobbed with relief when she saw it was Jack.

"Hey," he soothed, reaching out to stroke her hair and frowning when she shrank away. "What's th'matter?" Jack stood and watched as tears began to pour down her face.

Celia couldn't speak for a few minutes as sobs wracked her body, but she soon had enough control over her emotions to talk. "H-he might not have r-raped me," she whispered. "B-but that doesn't m-mean he didn't do other things…"

"Bloody hell," Jack swore, cursing himself for not realising sooner.

"A-at least with you I-I feel realtively s-safe, but I-I can't stay on board alone..." she gulped.

"My crew won't touch you," Jack promised, lifting her chin to look into her brown eyes. "I swear on my ship, they won't lay a finger on you, savvy?"

"I-I'm sorry, but y-you cannot guarantee t-that t-they w-wouldn't touch me."

Jack sighed heavily – he had not reckoned on this scenario and was at a loss as to what to do. "I know," he smiled eventually. "Th'girls'll look after you. Come on." He lead her by the arm through the streets until they reached the Faithful Bride.

"You want me to go in there?" she squeaked, backing away. "But it's a den of iniquity!"

"Aye, that it is," Jack chuckled raucously. "Here's th'deal. I intend gettin' myself blind drunk an', well, you know… You can stay with th'girls in their room, eh?"

"B-but… would it be safe?"

"They'd kill any man who tried ter hurt you, eh?"

"I suppose they would," she nodded, allowing him to lead her into the tavern. Celia gasped wide eyed at the hordes crammed into a seemingly small space and shrank against Jack as a ferocious looking pirate leered at her. "T-this isn't a good idea," she called over the din, but he appeared not to hear her.

"What th'bloody hell d'ya think yer doin', Sparrow?" Aggie's voice demanded across the crowded floor. "Bringin' 'er into a place like this."

"She didn't want ter stay on board alone, so I thought she could stay with th'girls in th'back room," the pirate reasoned, referring to a room at the back of the building where the whores stayed and rested between jobs.

"An' yer agreed ter this?" Aggie demanded, eyeing her friend suspiciously.

"I had little choice," Celia shrugged. "I'll be all right."

"Yer a bastard, Sparrow, that's what ya are – a bastard!" Aggie grabbed Celia's hand and dragged her away from Jack and through a door. Celia's eyed widened further as she saw the room full of women in various state of undress, some lounging on chairs and settee's, some applying yet more make-up to their faces, and most shockingly of all, two naked women who appeared to be intimate with each other, kissing and giggling, their hands roving over each other's bodies.

"Don't mind them," Aggie laughed as she saw the shocked expression on Celia's face. "They won't bother yer."

"It's not the _bothering_ me that worries me," Celia gasped. "It's… un-natural."

"Nothin' un-natural about love, no matter whether yer man or woman," her friend shrugged.

"I can't stay here!" Celia hissed, trying to break free of her friend's grasp.

"Well, where else yer goin' ter go, eh?"

"Come on, Cee," one of the other women chivvied. "I ain't workin' yet awhile, so I'll look after ya."

"Thanks Dora," Aggie smiled as she turned and hurried back to the bar, hoping no-one else had muscled in on her punter.

Celia sat heavily on an armchair, trying to ignore the two women but finding it increasingly hard to the louder they became.

"Cor! I'll chuck a pail of water over th'pair of ya in a minute!" Dora laughed and to Celia's relief, a man poked his head around the door and called for one of them, and they reluctantly broke away with a lingering kiss.

"Y-you don't bring… men in here, do you?" Celia enquired with a pounding heart.

"Nah, no men are allowed over th'threshold," Dora replied, much to the young woman's gratitude. "Want a drink?"

"Yes please," Celia smiled, feeling like a fish out of water even though she knew a lot of the girls in the room. She nodded her thanks as Dora handed her a mug, and took a sip, nearly choking as the rum burned a path down her throat and chest. "Dora!" she exclaimed once she had got her breath back.

"Sorry," the whore pouted. "I though ya'd have been used ter it livin' with them two."

"I never drink," Celia explained. "Well, hardly ever…"

"Well if yer don't want it, I'll have it then," Dora shrugged, holding her hand out.

"Is there any water?"

"Only that half th'tavern have pissed in."

"Oh… I'll stick with the rum then." Celia did not want to drink the vile tasting liquid, but she was parched and so took very small sips, chatting with various girls until they were called for and disappeared into the tavern until she was all alone in the room, save for a scrawny cat which curled up on her lap, purring as she stroked it until her eyes drooped shut.

…

Author's notes:

Pocket or fob watches were available then, but were not very accurate.


	11. Chapter 11

Usual disclaimers – sob!

Many thanks for your kind reviews and comments. They are always appreciated and helpful – at least I know I'm doing it right so far :D

With thanks to Kat for looking through and to Hils for being a soundboard from time to time, even if she doesn't agree with what I do (which she doesn't later in the story!)

And finally...

_**MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MY REVIEWERS AND READERS!**_

…

Chapter Eleven 

"Celia… oi! Come on, wake up, yer lazy mare!"

Celia's eyes sprang open and she rubbed her eyes, frowning as Aggie came into focus. "What time is it?" she enquired, stretching in the chair and disturbing the cat.

"It's mornin'!" Aggie chuckled. Ol' man Jones didn't have th'heart ter wake ya, bloody soft lump."

"Morning?" Celia echoed. "Oh, my goodness. I must be going."

"Don't worry, Jack's still upstairs," the whore assured her. "Although I reckon he'll be down any time."

Celia shooed the cat from her lap and stood creakily, her muscles and bones protesting at the movement. "Thanks, Aggie. Take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Ah, give over! I'm a survivor, me - yer should know that by now. Don't yer let that bastard force himself on yer."

"That bastard has no intention of forcing himself on her," a voice drawled from the corridor outside the room.

"Yeah, yer wouldn't be th'first ter promise that, Sparrow," Aggie sniped, hugging her friend. "See yer soon," she smiled.

"Hopefully," the younger woman nodded with a tearful smile as she left her friend behind and joined the pirate captain.

…

Celia sat in the ship's boat, watching with a sense of foreboding as the dark hull of the _Black Pearl_, which was to be her home for the best part of a year, loomed ever larger in her vision. She glanced at the two crewmen, rowing her and their captain, taking in their worn, tattered clothing, battle scarred faces and tattoos lining their arms, and wondered if they were anything like the crew on board the _Sea's Cutlass_. She prayed not. Celia did not think she could survive if she were to be treated in the same way by this crew. But for some reason, she found herself trusting Jack Sparrow, even though every sense in her body told her not to.

"It's th'bosun's chair again, I'm afraid," Jack quipped, breaking her reverie.

"I shall get used to it, I suppose," Celia sighed, watching as the flimsy plank was lowered in readiness for her arrival.

"Aye, you will," he agreed. "Unless you intend stayin' on board fer th'whole year."

Celia caught the glance that the two crewmen gave each other – clearly they had not been expecting her to stay for long, and that gave Celia a glimer of hope. '_Maybe he'll get tired of me and let me go… or just force himself on me_,' she thought ruefully to herself, thinking that her virtue was starting to become something of a millstone around her neck.

"Hello!" Jack called, waving a hand in front of her face. "D'you always go off in a trance?"

"No," she blushed. "I'm sorry." Celia took his offered hand and stepped gingerly across the boat and onto the bosun's chair, clinging tightly to the ropes as she felt herself being hauled into the air. "P-please don't drop me," she begged to the men on deck.

"We won't," came Joshamee Gibbs' friendly voice. "As safe as houses, is what you are."

"I-I don't feel it…"

"See – there already," Jack teased as she was swung over the rail and onto the deck. "I reckon they've been practisin' especially fer you."

"Of course we have, pet," Joshamee smiled, patting her arm. "Good to have you on board.. even though you're a woman."

"Y-you don't like women on board?" Celia asked nervously, hoping that the one person she could count on as a friend and ally would not turn against her.

"I reckon they're bad luck, but what do I know?" the quartermaster grinned.

"Do you want that answered?" Jack enquired acerbically. "Come on, luv, let's get you settled, eh?"

"All right," she whispered, allowing the pirate captain to lead her to his cabin. "I still want written assurance that you will release me once my debt is paid," Celia stated firmly, in spite of the fear that was coursing through her body.

"Here it is," Jack replied, walking to the table and holding up a piece of paper which he handed to the young woman. "You _can_ read, can't you…?"

Celia shot him a withering look then turned her attention to the paper, surprised to read in beautiful writing;

_I, Captain Jack Sparrow, do solemly declare that I will release Miss Celia Hammond from her duties on board my ship, the Black Pearl, once the debt of one hundred guineas is paid for in full, either by her working the debt off at five pennies per week, or halving the debt by sharing my bunk and working the remainder of the monies owed_.

Celia was not surprised, however, to see that he had signed it with an extravagant flourish. "Thank you," she acknowledged with a nod as she folded the paper up and tucked it into a pocket of her dress. "I am grateful to you."

"I told you, Celia, I'm a man of my word. Now go an' get yourself out of that pretty dress an' you can start cleanin' th'cabin, savvy?"

"Already?" she gasped.

"No time like th'present," he shrugged with a grin. "I don't allow slackers on my ship."

"J-just one more thing, Ca… Jack," she gulped. "What _if _ the men _do_ try something?"

"They know th'punishment fer it on board _my_ ship. Don't worry, luv, you're safer here than in Tortuga."

"I was safer back home than anywhere," she murmured ruefully as she crossed to the side cabin in order to change into an older dress to work in.

"Have things always happened ter you?" Jack enquired as she changed and he sat in his chair, uncorking a bottle of ale.

"No," she replied heavily. "At least not until I arrived out here. And now I almost dread waking up in case something else happens."

"It will," Jack chuckled quietly to himself. "You're on th'_Pearl_…"

…

"Captain!" Joshamee Gibbs called, silencing the decks of the pirate ship and allowing Jack to command the attention of his men from where he stood on the quarterdeck with Celia at his side.

"As you all know," Jack slurred, weaving violently and flailing his hands, making the young woman look at him in alarm. "We were involved in rescuing young Miss Hammond from a fate worse than death, thanks ter Davy bloody Stockton. Now Miss Hammond has graciously agreed ter reimburse what I paid out fer her by workin' on board by cleanin, swabbin' an' mendin' – sorry Toby, but she can't cook!" he grinned at the ship's cook, Tobias Pellew, before becoming serious. "I want you _all_ to treat her with curtesy an' respect, an' if _any_ of you dare to touch her, you know what I will do ter you, savvy?"

"Aye!" the crew replied to a man.

"There you go, luv. They know what's what now, eh?"

"Indeed," Celia replied, arching an eyebrow. "I _agreed_ to reimburse you…"

"Well, you did," Jack frowned, taking her arm and walking to the steps with a rolling gait.

"Under duress, maybe," she retorted, wondering why he was suddenly acting strangely.

"There was always th'alternative," he shrugged as he lead the way down the steps to the main deck.

"Which you will remind me of every time I raise an objection, won't you, Captain Sparrow?"

"You'll just have ter not object then, won't you, Miss Hammond?" Jack chuckled. "Mister Gibbs, show Celia where th'swabs an' pails are kept, an' how ter draw water up from th'side."

"Aye, Cap'n," the older man deferred, not minding the menial task on this occasion. "Come on, pet. You'll soon get used to it."

"I doubt that very much, Joshamee, but thank you," she smiled sadly as she followed him down a hatch and into the relative darkness below decks.

…

A week later 

"Port ho!"

Celia straightened her back and looked up from the task of scrubbing the cabin deck, brushing a strand of hair as it flopped in her eyes. '_I must get my hair cut_,' she thought to herself, having got used to and actually liking shorter hair. It had been down past her waist before she joined the convent and then practically shorn when she entered the veil. She had cried bitter tears that first night, mourning her fiancée, her family and of all things, her hair. But now she liked the practicality of it and it annoyed her when it started to get past her shoulders.

"You comin' ashore?" Jack enquired as he burst through the cabin doors, Joshamee Gibbs, Matthias Swain, Thomas Frazer, and Gabriel Jennings follwing behind.

"Where are we?" Celia asked, gettin to her feet and straightening down her dress.

"Nassau," the captain of the _Black Pearl_ informed her, raising his eyebrows as she gasped in shock. "Is there a problem with Nassau?"

"No," she panted. "It's just where we arrived when we sailed from England."

"So, are you coming ashore or not?" Joshamee Gibbs asked, smiling kindly at her.

"I'm not sure it would be a good idea. The priest might see me and wonder why I am not in the Virgin Islands."

"Come on," Jack chivied. "I doubt you'll bump into him, not th'places _we'll_ be goin'."

Celia sighed, wanting nothing more than to feel firm ground beneath her feet again. '_It can't be any worse than Tortuga_,' she reasoned with herself. '_And you survived there – just_.' She looked at Jack and smiled shyly. "All right, I will."

"Good girl," he grinned, sitting himself on his chair and beckoning his crewmen to take a seat themselves.

Celia had learned a lot of what went on, on board during the past week, thanks to cleaning the cabin. Jack had never ordered her out, even when discussing punishment for the crew or plotting an attack on a ship they had spotted. Much to her relief, the ship disappeared from view and Jack had decided not to pursue it. She was dreading the time when they did beset a ship, having heard tales from the men who delighted in teasing and scaring her when their captain or quartermaster were not around. She carried on with her work, whilst the group of men sat at the table discussing who would be the best person to purchase some new cannons and munitions from in Nassau.

"I reckon Ben Purcell'd be th'best idea," Swain offered, drawing murmurs of agreement from around the table.

"Aye," Jack mused idly, his eyes on the young girl's backside as it moved backwards and forwards as she scrubbed.

Joshamee Gibbs frowned, then looked around to see what had caught his captain's attention and frowned deeper. "Or maybe William Teach…" he suggested, winking at the shocked looks on the crewmen's faces.

"Hmm, perhaps," their captain muttered, his attention still on Celia. "Eh?" he eventually spluttered. "Have you taken leave of your senses, Gibbs? You don't do business with Blackbeard!"

"No, of course not, Captain," the porty man chuckled, along with the rest of the group.

"Are you takin' th'piss?" Jack enquired, glowering at his quartmaster.

"Me, Captain? Perish th'thought…" Gibbs replied innocently. "Just merely making a suggestion…"

"In that case, keep your _suggestions_ to yourself in future, savvy?" Jack sniped. "Ben Purcell, did you say?" he asked Matthias Swain. "He's Deane's cousin isn't he?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Swain nodded. "Though I don't think he and Elliot have seen each other fer a while.

"I think young Mister Deane can come with me an' do some business," Jack grinned, hoping to trade in an family loyalties.

"I'll go an' inform him," Swain smiled, rising from his chair and making for the door as the sound of the anchor chains being lowered rang around the cabin.

Celia looked up again, remembering the last time that she had heard that sound in this port and she gulped back the tears, thinking of her friend Beth who had perished during the storm which had hit the ship taking them to the Virgin Isles.

"Aye, we'd best be off as well," Joshamee agreed, as he and the remaining men followed suit, leaving Jack still in his seat watching Celia.

"You all right, luv?" he asked, pursing his lips and pressing his fingertips together as he leaned forward on the table.

"Yes," Celia nodded, smiling weakly. "I'm fine…"

"No you're not," Jack admonished, gettin to his feet and walking over to her. "What's wrong?" he asked, squatting down to her level.

"Apart from the fact that I am stuck on this ship full of pirates, working my fingers to the bone and have no friends I can talk to, nothing. Nothing at all," she retorted, glaring at Jack as he chuckled. "And what, pray, is so funny?"

"That's th'first spark you've shown since we left Tortuga," he mused. "You'll be all right."

"I am so glad you think so, _Captain_!" she spat, plashing the godstone into the pail, angrily, sending water splashing over Jack. "Oh dear, I _am_ sorry…"

"I'm sure you are," he remarked dryly, standing and brushing his breeches down. "Go an' get dressed before I change my mind an' keep you on board."

"What is wrong with what I have on? It's not as if I'm a lady any longer, is it?" Celia retorted.

"I will not be seen with you in skivvy's clothes," Jack sighed. "I make an effort at least," he said, indicating his good quality breeches, fine brocade waistcoat and resonably clean cream silk shirt. "Now get changed – you have five minutes or I'll come an' dress you myself, savvy?"

"I won't have time to wash," she protested, hurrying towards the chest where her other two dresses were stored, and pulling out a lemon coloured dress with three quarter length sleeves.

"You still be cleaner than most of th'women there," Jack shrugged. "Four minutes…"

"You are impossible!" Celia pouted, flouncing off to the side cabin to change.

"That's why you love me," Jack quipped, laughing at her snort of derision. "Three minutes…"

"You cannot count, Captain Sparrow. There is no way that two minutes have already passed."

"I know," he chuckled wickedly. "An' I can count perfectly. One minute…"

"Oh!" she sighed exasperatedly as she quickly shed her work clothes and pulled on the dress, her fingers fumbling with the laces as she looked anxiously towards the drapes which were the only thing between her and the pirate. "Don't you _dare_ come in!"

"It's my cabin," Jack drawled lazily, his voice sounding too close for Celia's comfort.

"There!" she announced, pulling the drapes back and not being at all surprised to find him just on the other side of them. "I'm ready." Celia smiled sweetly at his look of mock hurt, and crossed the cabin to the doors. "Are you coming?"

"Oh yes," he grinned, knowing the hidden meaning would go right over her head.

"Tell me… Jack, what am I to do if I need to purchase things? It's not as if I am earning a wage with you."

"Hmmm," he pondered, pressing a finger against his lips as he regarded her. "I could always give you two pennies a week wages, but that means only threepence would go to paying off your debt an' you'd be on board longer."

Celia sighed, she'd had a feeling his answer would be somewhere along those lines. "Perhaps when I need something, I could ask you for the reduction for that week only?" she suggested.

"Sounds good ter me, luv," Jack agreed, pushing the door open for her and patting her backside as she went through to the main deck.

"Please desist from doing that," she hissed.

"You shouldn't have such a lovely arse," he teased, winking at her and delighting in seeing a red flush creep over her face.

"That is hardly appropriate, Captain."

"_I'm_ hardly appropriate, Miss Hammond. Come on, th'chair's been rigged fer you."

"Oh." Celia stopped dead on seeing a more sturdy chair in place of the simple bench and ropes that had been there previously.

"Th'carpenter knocked this up fer you, knowing how you didn't like th'other one," Jack explained, helping her to sit in the seat and fastening a rope around her waist. "Better?"

"Much," Celia agreed, settling herself in. "Thank you, Mister Orchard," she smiled at the ship's carpenter who was hovering by the rail. "I'm very grateful to you."

"Well," he replied, his face colouring. "Yer goin' ter be on board a while yet, so I thought this'd be better fer ya."

"Did it off his own bat as well, he did," Jack grinned, climbing down the side as the chair was lowered to a boat, already containing Noah Trinity and Elliot Deane.

"Then that makes him more thoughtful than you, at least," Celia sniped, flashing Jack another sweet smile.

"How am I not thoughtful?" Jack protested indignantly. "I've been on my best behaviour since you came on board. I've haven't been untoward with you, have I?"

Celia said nothing as she concentrated on gettin into the boat safely, but privately agreed. During the past week, Jack had gone out of his way to be kind and courteous to her and she had started to wonder if he had changed his mind about wanting to bed her, but she doubted it somehow. '_Probably trying to sweeten me up_,' she thought caustically.

"How long since you saw your cousin?" Jack asked his young crewman, Elliot Deane, who had taken up the oars with Noah and was starting to row the boat towards the shore.

"Ooh, about five years, Cap'n. He might not recognise me now, I was a right runt th'last time we met."

"Yo ain't much bigger now," Noah grinned, his smile white against his dark skin. "Yo got a mark ter show 'im who yo am?"

"He'll know," Elliot insisted, pulling a face at his mate's jesting. "Yer look very nice, Miss Hammond," changing the subject as he complimented her with all the confidence of youth.

"Thank you," Celia smiled, inwardly chucking at Jack's dark look. "It is pleasant to wear a pretty dress now and then."

"Hmpf!" Jack snorted. "You could always dress fer dinner, if you want ter wear pretty things."

'_And give you the wrong idea_? _I don't think so_…' "Maybe," she replied. "Do you come from the Caribbean then, Elliot?" she enquired, using his tack of changing the subject.

"Aye, I was born at sea," he beamed. "Me mam brought us up on Trinidad but as soon as I was old enough ter go ter sea, I did."

"With your cousin?" Celia asked, genuinely interested.

"Nah, Miss. With th'Cap'n. He came by once an' I asked ter join them."

She turned her attention to the pirate captain who was watched the town drawing ever closer. "And just what were you _coming_ _by_ for?"

"Th'usual – pillage, plunder, mayhem…"

"Do you feel no shame in what you do?"

"This ain't th'time nor th'place fer a sermon, Celia, so don't start," he warned, arching his eyebrows at her.

"It's what I'm here for," she shrugged, holding on to the side of the boat as it bumped against the wharf and Noah threw up a mooring line.

"Not on my ship, you're not."

"Not even if the men wanted a sermon on a sabbath day?"

"You're not a priest, you can't sermonise," Jack retorted.

"Clutching at straws, are we, Captain?"

"Celia," he growled. "Don't push me…"

"I apologise. I overstepped the mark."

"Apology accepted," Jack nodded, standing and giving her a hand to her feet and over to the ladder on the wall of the docks. "Avert your eyes," he ordered his men as she climbed up.

"I hope that includes you as well," Celia retorted.

"Of course," Jack lied, climbing up once she had reached the top. "Come on Deane, we have business ter do."

"Comin', Cap'n," the youth replied as he hurried up the steps. "I reckon it'd be best ter go into town an' ask fer him. I dunno where he lives."

"All right," his captain nodded, leading the way towards the centre of Nassau with Celia on his arm, trying to keep a steady pace as he swayed and weaved as they walked. Jack doffed his hat to two women as they passed by, making them giggle at his show of respect. "Did you see th'sights whilst you were here before? No? I'll show you after I've finished with Purcell, eh?" he suggested to the young woman on his arm.

"All right," Celia replied uncertainly. "What do you want me to do whilst you are conducting your business?"

"Sit there an' look pretty," Jack grinned. "Maybe flutter your lashes at Purcell every now an' then."

"Certainly not!" she declared. "I am not some wanton whore."

"I never said you were," Jack sighed, rolling his eyes. "It just might help sweeten him a bit, that's all."

"Well you'll just have to rely on the old Sparrow charm then, won't you?" Celia sniped.

"I don't think Purcell would be too interested in th'old Sparrow charm," Jack chuckled. "Th'Hammond charm is another matter, though…"

"No," Celia stated firmly. "I hope that isn't the reason you wanted me."

"Oh no," Jack assured her with a wicked grin. "I want you for another reason entirely!"

"Captain Sparrow! I'm going back to the ship, _now_!"

"Sorry, sorry," Jack winced, realising that this time _he_ had overstepped the mark. "I was only teasin', eh?"

Celia glowered at Jack and then at their young companion as he vainly attempted to stifle a laugh. "One more comment like that…" she warned.

"There won't be," Jack assured her. "Best behaviour, I promise."

"That'd be a first," Celia sniped, trying hard not to react at the hangdog look on Jack's face. "Stop it," she retorted but the words lost their sting as the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. "You're impossible, Jack Sparrow!"

"I did it!" he beamed delightedly. "I made her smile."

"I _do_ smile, you know," she replied, a little hurt.

"I'll stop whilst I'm ahead then," Jack winked, nudging his grinning crewman.

"I would," Celia observed, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips.

"Elliot?" a voice called across the town square. "Bleedin' hell, it's our Elliot!"

"Ben!" Elliot Deane called and left his companions to run across to where another man was standing, waving his arms as he went.

"His brother?" Jack wondered as he pondered the likeness between the stranger and his crewman.

"They certainly look like brothers," Celia agreed as she and Jack changed direction and started to walk towards the two men.

"Cap'n Sparrow, this is me cousin, Ben Purcell," Elliot grinned.

"Cousin?" Jack echoed, raising his eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Aye," Purcell laughed. "Our mothers are twins an' we look like our mothers."

"Identical twins I take it?" Jack smiled, shaking Purcell's offered hand. "Captain Jack Sparrow, an' this is my companion, Miss Hammond."

"Pleasure ter meet yer, Cap'n, Miss," Ben nodded. "I was just goin' fer a drink – care ter join me as I'm guessin' me little cousin here hasn't dragged yer all across town fer th'sights."

"You guess correctly," Jack confirmed, following Purcell as he lead the way to a run down tavern.

…

"Thank goodness we're out of that place," Celia spluttered, the tobacco smoke that fugged the tavern making her throat sore and eyes water and she wondered how Elliot could bear to stay in there, drinking with his cousin.

"Aye, but it was worth it," Jack grinned, very pleased that he'd made a good deal on two twenty four pounders, plus enough munitions to last him for a few months, depending how many ships they attacked in that time.

"I'm glad you think so," the young woman moped. "I stink to high heaven now."

"I'll make it up ter you," Jack chuckled, patting her hand which was resting on his arm.

"How do you propose that?" she enquired caustically. "Or don't I want to know?"

"Hey! I'm not completely reprehensible, you know!" he protested, moving his hand to his heart and pretending to look hurt.

"I believe you, thousands wouldn't," Celia teased with a smile.

"Hmpf! Well, if that's th'way you feel…"

"Oh no!" Celia gasped, shrinking back. "Brother Paul!"

"Brother Paul?" Jack enquired, turning around as Celia hid herself behind him. "Th'priest?"

"No," she hissed. "The deacon. Don't move for goodness sake, or he'll see me."

"Believe me, young lady, you're drawing far more attention ter yourself with your little performance than anything I'm doing."

"Jack!" Celia pleaded. "Don't move."

"All right," he sighed. "I won't if you won't." Jack bent down and pressed his lips against Celia's, wrapping his arms tightly around her to quell the struggle he knew would come, then turning them both around so that Celia's back was to the deacon.

"Stop it!" Celia gasped when she broke free. "He's more likely to notice me if we're kissing in public, you fool!"

"Charmin,'" Jack muttered as he nuzzled her neck and behind her ear. "He hasn't even glanced this way…"

"Stop it," she moaned, her legs turning weak as forbidden desire raged through her body at his contact. "Please…"

"No," he replied, the tip of his tongue idly playing in the folds of her ear. "I'll only stop when you want me to, an' you're not givin' me th'impression that you want me to."

"I want you to…" she panted, holding on to him in case her legs gave way. "Please stop."

"Still not convinced," Jack rumbled in her ear, the sound sending another wave of fire coursing through her veins.

"Let me go," Celia demanded, releasing her hold on him and trying to pull away from his grasp.

"Ah, now you see," Jack grinned wolfishly as he let her go. "You were holdin' on so tightly, I couldn't move."

"You…"

"Rougishly handsome bastard?" he suggested with a laugh.

"You got the last word right," came the risposte and Celia stomped off in the direction of the town square, confusion tearing through her head as she tried to deal with the conflicting feelings the intimacy had caused.

"I am shocked, Miss Hammond!" Jack admonished teasingly as he caught up with her. "You are gettin' into bad ways!"

"And just whom do I have to thank for that?" she retorted, glaring at him.

"Celia, you inflict th'harshest wounds on me!" he cried theatrically, clutching at his heart as if it were breaking.

"Oh!" Celia sighed with exasperation, rolling her eyes and hurrying away once more, making eye contact with the deacon, who was looking in her direction. "Oh no," she groaned, hoping that he would not recognise her.

"Ignore him – nothin' ter do with th'church," Jack shrugged, taking her arm and raising his hat to the clergyman.

"But I am not doing what I came over here to do," she argued, trying to free her arm. "Let go!"

"Bit late fer propriety," he chuckled. "An' by th'way, I lied about him not watchin' us…"

"That doesn't surprise me," Celia snapped, closing her eyes in horror as the deacon started to walks towards them.

"You came to Father Michael's didn't you?" he asked as he neared them. "You were one of the missionaries sent over – what are you doing with a pirate!" he demanded angrily. "Speak, girl!"

"Don't talk to her like that," Jack hissed menacingly. "It's none of your damned business."

"Of course it is my business," Brother Paul replied, reaching out for Celia to pull her away from Jack.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her, either," Jack warned, his hand itching to reach for his dagger, but he thought better of it. "She's with me."

"Not in _that_ way," Celia wailed. "I-I'm working for him… oh… that's not what I meant," she groaned as the deacon eyed her questioningly. "I was taken by pirates and was to be sold, Ja… Captain Sparrow came to my rescue."

"You seriously expect me to believe you after what I witnessed earlier?" Brother Paul sniped, sneering down his nose at her. "You're not a woman of God, you're a cheap little whore," he spat, his head snapping back as Jack punched him.

"You worthless cur," the pirate snarled, as he hauled the younger man to his feet, gripping his robes and pulling him in close. "She did her best ter do your God's work in Tortuga, put herself in all kinds of danger ter try an' convert hardened bastards. So you have no right ter stand in judgement of her, savvy?"

The deacon flinched in the face of the pirate's anger but said nothing, smoothing down his cassock as Jack pushed him away. He glared once more at Celia before turning on his heel and hurrying down the street, glancing back once as he rounded a corner, and then disappeared from view.

"Oh no," Celia wept. "What am I going to do now?"

"Nothin'," Jack replied, putting a consoling arm around her shoulders. "One, there's nothin' you can do – you're bound ter me. An' two, you're far better than _him_, so don't lose any sleep over him, savvy?"

"But he's going to go to Father Michael and tell him that I'm a whore and a pirate's woman," she groaned, running her hand through her hair.

"So? Sticks an' stones…"

"My reputation will be ruined!" Celia cried.

"I hate ter have ter break this to you, luv, but it already is…"

"Not in the eyes of the church, it isn't - _wasn't_. What if he sends word to my family?" she fretted.

"So, write to them first. Explain that you were kidnapped an' that I saved you. You don't _have_ ter tell them I'm a pirate… a merchant ship owner, perhaps."

"I will not lie to my family."

"So don't lie, just don't tell them I'm a pirate."

"_Jack_! I can't do that. It would still be decieving them, even if it wasn't an outright lie."

"Tell them th'truth then," he suggested.

"Oh…" Celia threw her hands in the air with vexation and looked around at the town square as if searching for an answer. "I'd like to go back to the ship, if I may," she finally said, needing some peace and quiet to digest everything that had happened during the last few minutes.

"I'll be stayin' ashore," Jack warned her.

"I know," she nodded. "Would it be all right if I locked the cabin doors?"

"Of course," he agreed. "Come on then, let's get you back to th'quay."

"Thank you," Celia smiled weakly, allowing herself to be lead once more.

…

Author's notes:

cannons

And sorry for double alerts – you can't edit a chapter any more!


	12. Chapter 12

I still don't have him despite a begging letter to Santa!

With thanks to those who reviewed and to Kat.

This chapter is dedicated to Hellborne - author and moderator on affnet who sadly died yesterday.

**Chapter twelve**

Much to her consternation, Celia found herself fretting far more over the effect Jack's kiss had had on her, than what Brother Paul might be saying to Father Michael. '_I should not be having these feelings for him_,' she fretted as she stared out of the stern windows, but not seeing anything. '_You had them for Robert_,' another voice argued. '_You didn't think they were wrong then_.' She sighed, gettin to her feet and pacing about the cabin. '_But I was engaged to Robert…_' "Oh, blast you, Jack Sparrow!" she exploded, holding her head in an attempt to quell the thoughts which were making her dizzy as she tried to work them out. "My life was much simpler before you came along," she shouted out loud, but even before she had finished the sentence, the voice in her head was arguing that her life was _not _simpler before she had met the doe eyed pirate – just not quite so complicated.

"Everythin' all right, Miss?" Oliver Fernan enquired through the locked cabin doors.

"Fine, thank you, Mister Fernan," Celia called, praying the crewman had not heard what she had said.

"Can I get yer anythin', like?"

"No, no – I am fine," she assured him, not trusting him enough to open the doors until Jack's arrival. "Thank you for asking."

"All right, Miss. Just call if yer need anythin'."

"I need to go home," she smiled sadly, sighing as she thought about the letter she would have to write to her parents, just in case Father Michael did the same. "What am I going to tell them?"

'_Th'truth_?' came Jack's voice in her head.

"How can I tell them the truth? It would break their hearts. Oh goodness me, I must be going as mad as Jack, having conversations with thin air!" she chuckled to herself before sobering once more. "I will _have_ to tell them the truth," Celia sighed, plopping down dejectedly on the stern seats, going over in her mind what she was going to say to her mother and father.

…

"Why can't I get into my cabin?" Jack slurred, reeling backwards from the force of trying to push open the locked doors whilst more than a little inebriated.

"Miss Hammond's locked th'doors, ain't she?" Jacob Sumner sighed, rolling his eyes at his crewmates.

"Oh yes," Jack nodded vigorously as he remembered. "Celia! Let me in!" he called, banging on the door.

"All right, all right!" she replied, hurrying to unlock the cabin doors and stepping back quickly as he burst through.

"I got somethin' fer you," he grinned, his hands doing a dance in front of him. "It's here… somewhere…" Jack frowned, patting his coat in an attempt to locate his gift. "Ah! Here it is. Brought it especially fer you…"

"Thank you," Celia smiled uncertainly as she took the battered looking object from him. "I-it's most kind…"

"Well, take th'cover off then," Jack urged, shooing her with his hands whilst swaying wildly.

"Oh, this is a cover?"

"Well you don't think I'd give a gift lookin' like that, do you?"

"No," she smiled apologetically as she unwrapped the present, almost dropping it in shock as a beautiful leather bound, gilded bible appeared from the wrapping. "Oh! Oh, Jack, it's…"

"I noticed you didn't have one, an' thought you might need cheerin' up after our little encounter with Brother Whatshisface…"

"Paul," Celia smiled, running a gentle finger along the delicate gilding. "I-I don't know what to say," she murmured, looking shyly at the pirate. "Thank you."

"It's a pleasure," Jack beamed. "Now, I could with some more rum…"

Celia caught herself before she questioned whether he should have yet more to drink, reasoning that it would be churlish in face of his generosity. "May I sit and read it for a while?" she asked, hoping he did not have some chores for her.

"Aye, of course you can," Jack replied with a wave of his hand. "I was thinkin' that we could have supper in th'mess tonight…?"

"Oh. Why?" she enquired. "What is wrong with eating in here?"

"Apart from th'fact that th'men think you don't trust them, an' that their captain no longer sees their company is good enough fer him, nothin'."

"B-but I… do we _have_ to?"

"Toby is cookin' somethin' special just fer you," Jack chided. "Besides, you can't stay holed up in th'cabin fer a year – if you polish an' scrub it any more, you'll wear th'wood away. Time ter start mixin', eh?"

"But I have been," Celia replied uncertainly, sitting sat down on the stern seats and leafing through the pages of the bible, but not taking anything in, her mind otherwise occupied with the thought of having to leave the cabin and work and socialise amongst the pirates.

"Swabbin' th'decks once a day isn't mixin'. They won't hurt you," Jack told her from his chair at the oak table which dominated the centre of the cabin. "I gave my word."

"I know you did," she nodded, blushing at the thought of him watching her as she sat there. "It's just… after… I'm, well, frightened."

"I know," Jack said gently. "Me an' Gibbs'll watch over you, not that we need to. Th'men won't hurt you – there was a lot of anger when…" Jack stopped himself from saying something, making Celia look at him curously.

"When what?" she enquired. "When they found out what happened to me? _Jack_! How could you have told them?" she cried, putting the book down on the seat and jumping to her feet. "_How_?"

"I didn't need ter tell them much," he confessed. "They've heard of Stockton and guessed a lot of it. They're all fer goin' after Stockton should our paths cross, an' makin' sure he doesn't hurt other women, like he's hurt you."

"But…?" Celia frowned, confusion crowding her mind again. "You're all pirates! Why should you care?"

Jack sighed, trying to give himself chance to think up a reply but was saved by a knock on the cabin doors. "Come," he called.

"Will yer be eatin' in here or th'mess?" Tobias Pellew, the cook, enquired as he entered the cabin, looking directly at Celia as he spoke, making her colour once more under the scrutiny of both men.

"T-the mess," she stammered, knowing she had little option but to agree.

"That's my girl," Jack beamed, winking at her.

"It'll be ready in one turn," Tobias informed them as he turned and left the way he came.

Jack grinned to himself as he sat back in his chair and tipped his hat over his eyes for a nap, leaving Celia to sit back down and pick up her bible, with the questions on her lips still unanswered.

…

"Celia, pet!" Joshamee Gibbs beamed as she and Jack walked into the mess, which fell instantly silent. "It's good to see you."

"Thank you, Joshamee," she whispered, clinging to Jack's arm for dear life.

"Come and sit yourself down here," the portly man smiled, patting a space on the bench beside him. "Cook's got a right treat for us tonight."

"So I hear," Celia replied, her voice breaking with nerves as she sat where beckoned, feeling a couple of dozen or so pairs of eyes on her.

"Fer gawd's sake!" Jack muttered, casting impatient looks at his crewmen in the mess as he squeezed in besides Celia. "It's like a bloody graveyard in here."

"I ain't ever tried venison b'fore," Elliot Deane commented, breaking the silence. "Wonder what it's like?"

"Yer'll find out, soon enough," came Tobias Pellew's voice as he entered the mess, carrying a tray filled with meat and potatoes, setting it down on the trestle table in front of Jack.

"Venison?" Celia echoed, her eyes agog. "Where on earth did you find venison here?"

"Ways an' means, Miss," the cook winked. "Ways an' means."

"But there are an awful lot of men… surely venison wouldn't feed all of you?"

"It won't," Jack informed her. "They drew lots ter see who would be th'lucky ones. An' these fine gentlemen you see here are th'said lucky ones."

"Have you ever tried venison b'fore, Miss?" Elliot asked, watching as the cook doled out equal shares of meat and potatoes onto petwer plates and handed them out.

"Yes," Celia nodded. "We used to eat it quite often at home."

"What, in th'nunnery, like?" Oliver Fernan enquired in amazement.

"No," Celia chuckled, her nervousness dissipating. "When I lived with my parents," she replied, a sad smile on her face.

"Have you decided what ter do yet?" Jack questioned. "Are you goin' ter tell them?"

"I have no choice, do I?" she sighed. "Father Michael is the sort who would write to them, telling them all about their daughter's fall from grace."

"You haven't fallen from grace," Joshamee put in, a frown turning to a glare as a couple of men snickered. "Any more of that and you'll be served slop in the brig!" he snapped, warning the whole mess as he did not know who the culprits were.

"Aye, just before you enjoy th'lash," Jack snarled angrily. "I apologise, Celia," he said. "For my uncouth crew."

"That's all right, Ja… Captain Sparrow," she replied, her head bowed in shame and her earlier unease returned. She looked up briefly as the cook put a plate before her, and nodded her thanks, before bowing her head again and murmuring grace to herself, knowing that it probably would not be worth saying it in front of the men.

"Cor! This is bloody lovely!" Elliot exclaimed as he tucked into his food. "What's venison from, anyway?"

"Deer," Jack informed him through a mouthful. "My congratulations, Toby. You've excelled yourself."

"Thankee, Cap'n," the cook grinned, showing a silver toothed smile. "It's nice ter cook with decent meat fer a change."

Celia tentatively ate a piece of the red meat, doubting it would be as nice as they had claimed, but to her amazement it was every bit as juicy and tender as any her mother's cook had prepared. "It is wonderful," she nodded at the still hovering cook and was rewarded with an even bigger smile.

"I'm glad yer like it, Miss. I take it yer'll be eatin' with th'crew from now on?"

"Y-yes," Celia nodded. "I expect I will be."

"I'll make sure there will be a senior member of the crew with you at all times," the quartermaster assured her. "You will be quite safe."

"She will be quite safe anyway, Gibbs!" Jack snapped, clattering his fork on the plate. "They're not savages you know."

"I wasn't suggesting they were," Gibbs defended. "It's just that she has been through a very trying ordeal and I was trying to reassure her."

"Do you mind not talking about me as if I were not here?" Celia enquired angrily. "And just how much of my ordeal _did_ you tell them about, Captain?"

"I told you, Stockton is well known in these waters. Men can guess what he'd do ter women, savvy?" Jack sighed with exasperation. "An' I am quite capable of decidin' what is best fer _my_ guest," he retorted to the older man.

"I am not your guest," came Celia's sharp response. "I am your servant, remember?"

"Oh, do forgive me," Jack replied cuttingly. "Perhaps I should start treatin' you more as a servant, eh? You'd soon have somethin' ter complain about then."

"There's no need for that tone, Captain," Gibbs reproached, flinching as Jack got to his feet and glared angrily at him.

"Don't you dare talk ter me like that!" Jack snapped, ignoring the stunned looks on the rest of the crew's faces as they watched the drama unfold.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Gibbs replied contritely. "I forgot my place."

"It'll be in th'brig, if you're not careful," his captain warned, although both men knew it to be an empty threat.

"In which case, you would have to lock me up as well," Celia declared, standing and looking Jack in the eyes. "Mister Gibbs is only trying to look after me."

"An' I'm doin' what, exactly?" Jack enquired, placing a finger against his lips as if thinking.

"Looking after yourself, as usual," she retorted, pushing past him and flouncing from the mess, peering into the dark corridor before turning left and praying it was the correct direction.

"I'll go after her…" Gibbs began, stopping when he saw Jack's raised hand.

Jack shook his head. "No you won't. Fernan, go an' show her th'direction of my cabin."

"Aye, cap'n," the Irishman agreed, pushing his empty plate away and going on his errand.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Gibbs shrugged. "It's just she's so…"

"Innocent?" Jack suggested.

"Aye, sweet and innocent. I don't want her to lose that, that is all. I know the men wouldn't dare touch her, but you know how coarse they can be."

"She'll get used ter it," Jack shrugged. "But don't you dare undermine me like that again, savvy?"

"I won't," Gibbs agreed as his captain left the mess to find the young woman.

"If venison livens things up this much, can we have it once a week, Toby?" Elliot quipped, drawing gales of laughter from his crewmates.

"You'll have a clip round the ear once a week, if you're not careful," his quartermaster warned him sternly as he too left the mess, the excited buzz of chatter following him as he walked down the corridor.

…

"It's this way, Miss," came a broad Irish brogue in the near darkness.

"Oh!" Celia yelped. "Oh, Mister Fernan, you frightened me half to death."

"Sorry, Miss. They call me Mouse, 'cos I move so quietly, like. Th'Cap'n sent me ter take yer to th'cabin."

"T-thank y-you," she stammered, grateful for the lamp which he carried. "Y-you must think I'm a silly little girl."

"Of course not, Miss," he assured her as he lead the way. "Yer've had a hard time of it, with all that's happened. Be enough ter frighten anyone, man or woman."

"You're most kind," she smiled, shrugging ruefully as she reaslied he would not be able to see the smile. "H-how long have you been over here?"

"A couple of years. I was sent as a slave but managed ter escape when we docked, an' joined th'Cap'n's ship soon after."

"What did you do in Ireland?"

"What ter get sent out here, or my livin'?"

"Both, if that's not too nosey."

"Heh! I was a fisherman by trade, but did some thievin' as a way ter make ends meet. I got caught an' shipped over here as punishment."

"That's terrible. Do you have family back home?"

"A wife an' two children, but I doubt I'll see them again."

"Oh. I'm sorry about that, Mister Fernan."

"Ah, call me Oliver, or Mouse. An' don't yer worry about it. Maeve can an' will take care of herself. Probably found herself another man by now."

Celia fell silent as she climbed the steps up to the main deck, gasping at the vivid red and orange sunset above her.

"Never had 'em like this back home, eh?" Oliver chuckled. "'Tis beautiful."

"It is," Celia agreed. "Thank you for escorting me, Mis… Oliver."

"'Tis a pleasure."

"You found your way, then?" Jack enquired dryly as he caught them up.

"Oliver showed me," Celia replied huffily. "At least he cared enough to ensure I didn't get lost."

Jack raised his hand as Oliver was about to correct her, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Aye," he agreed. "An' I'm very grateful to him."

"It's a pleasure, Cap'n," the Irishman answered with a confused smile. "I'll see yer, Miss."

"Yes, I expect I will be out on deck tomorrow, working…"

"A mind reader as well as beautiful, is there no end ter your talents?" Jack teased, pushing his cabin door open and holding it for Celia.

"You flatter me, Captain," she sniped as she breezed past him. "But it will still get you nowhere."

"We'll see, Miss Hammond," he murmured with a sly smile as he followed her into the cabin. "Would you care fer some wine?"

"_Wine_? First venison, now wine – I'm starting to wonder if this is a pirate ship at all."

"Just because we're pirates, doesn't mean we don't enjoy th'finer things in life. Well?"

"No, thank you," she replied, declinging the offer of wine. "You're an enigma," Celia mused, sitting in her favourite spot on the stern seat.

"So you've told me before," Jack winked, settling in his chair and propping his feet on the table, ignoring her arched eyebrow.

"How did you come to appreciate the _finer_ things in life, Jack? By stealing them off ships?"

"If only you knew," Jack chuckled, shaking his head slowly.

"So tell me then," Celia demanded. "Tell me all about the infamous pirate, Jack Sparrow."

"An' why should I do that, missy? I don't owe you an explanation, an' my private life is just that – _private_!"

"So you're hiding something, then?" she smirked triumphantly.

"I'm a bloody pirate," Jack sighed exasperatedly. "Of course I'm hidin' somethin'!"

"How did you get your ship, did you steal her?" Celia enquired, changing tack with an innocent smile.

"Nice try, Celia," he grinned, seeing through her ploy.

"But you know everything, well, _nearly_ everything about me. I know nothing about you, other than I do not understand you at all. For instance, why do you put on that act?"

"What act?" Jack frowned, cocking his head to one side. "I don't put on an act."

"Yes you do. When you're alone with me, you're sort of normal, but whenever there's someone else around, you behave strangely. You act as if you are drunk when you are not. You walk, well…" she sighed, throwing her hands up. "You walk as if you are even more drunk than you act – why?"

Jack regarded her thoughtfully, his head still to the side. "Because," he eventually replied. "It suits my purpose ter let others think I'm a little _strange_. Those who don't know me, or at least don't know me well, think they can pull one over a drink and sun addled fool."

"I can understand that," Celia nodded. "But why act with your crew?"

"Habit," he grinned. "An' because they know it's an act. An' because I am a little drink an' sun addled…"

"You don't say?" she replied caustically. "Can I at least ask where you are from?"

"Same place as you," he smiled enigmatically. "Good ol' Blighty."

"Oh, I give up," she sighed, turning away from him and picking up her bible which she had left on the seat earlier.

"Lymington," Jack eventually drawled. "A small seaport on th'south coast."

"I see. Why did you leave?"

"I'm a sailor, luv – I sailed away. Come ter think of it, I don't even know where you're from."

"Edinburgh," Celia smiled, thinking of her home town and her family. "It's the capital of Scotland."

"I know," Jack nodded. "I was a cartographer by trade, maps interest me – even those that aren't of th'sea."

"_Really_?" Celia exclaimed, putting her bible back down and looking at him with renewed interest. "So how did you end up being a pirate?"

"You not goin' ter give up, are you?"

"Well I'm going to find out sometime in the next year, it might as well be now," she reasoned with a sweet smile.

"You are, are you?" Jack mused, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, scrutinising her closely. "An' what makes you think that?"

"Well it's going to be a very boring year if we're not going to make any sort conversation."

"It's not conversation that interests me, Celia," he smiled wolfishly.

"Well it will have to do, I'm afraid. You'll get no other form of _entertainment_ from me."

"Is that a fact?" Jack enquired, rising from his chair and walking slowly towards her. "An' just what makes you so sure of that, Miss Hammond?" he husked, sitting beside her on the stern seat.

"Y-you know that," she stammered, trying to inch away and letting out a gasp as Jack leaned over and breathed heavily in her ear. "I-I'm n-not that sort…"

"_Really_?" he purred. "Well you give a damned good impression otherwise."

"H-how so?" Celia squeaked indignantly, held back from jumping to her feet by his restraining hand.

"You don't exactly fight me off when I kiss you, eh?"

"Y-you've kissed me twice," she protested. "Both time you caught me unawares and both times I broke it off as soon as I could!"

"As soon as you could, eh? I hadn't noticed," he chuckled, the sound sending a shudder through her body. "In fact, Miss Hammond, I think I'm goin' ter kiss you a lot more often. Face it, luv, you certainly enjoy it."

"I do not, Captain Sparrow! And I will not allow you to kiss me or anything else, unless you are going to revert to type and force yourself on me."

"Celia, Celia," Jack sighed, shaking his head and brushing against her hair as he did. "I have enough control over myself ter _not_ force myself on a woman, an' I am _very_ patient. But it doesn't mean ter say I won't be using every opportune moment ter break down th'barriers, so ter speak."

"I'd like to see you try," she snorted, realising immediately the words came out that it was the wrong thing to say to him. "D-don't you d-dare…" Celia let out a muffled shriek as Jack pushed her on the seat so she was lying on her back with him on top of her, pressing his lips hard against hers. She fought an inward battle between the conflicting feelings of wave upon wave of desire washing over her and the horror that was she was doing was wrong and sinful.

"Oh, Celia," Jack murmured in her ear as he grasped her hands in his and raised them above her head.

"Please stop," she implored, writhing beneath him and moaning as he sucked the hollow of her collarbone. "This is wrong."

"You don't want me ter stop," he rasped, moving along her neck until he reached her ear. "Do you…?"

"Y-yes," Celia panted as the tip of his tongue explored her ear once more. "Oh, Lord," she swore as a burning throb pulsated between her legs "Jack, stop," she begged.

"All right then," he agreed breezily, gettin off her and brushing down his breeches, leaving her still lying on the seat, flushed and flustered. "What? You wanted me ter stop, didn't you?" Jack enquired innocently. "Never let it be said I force myself on women…"

Celia watched as he calmly walked from the cabin, her mind in a whirl and her body in even more turmoil. '_I am never going to survive the next year_,' she thought forlornly. '_Oh, Lord, what am I going to do_?' She stood slowly and walked to the side cabin, panicking slightly at the moistness between her legs, and splashed some water that was still in the bowl from her morning wash, onto her face. Celia jumped as Jack's voice came from the main cabin, calling her name.

"I-I'm in here," she called, her voice breaking. "J-just gettin ready f-for bed."

"You sure you still want th'hammock?" Jack teased, knowing that she hated sleeping in it and had actually fallen out the first couple of nights.

"Quite sure," she stated firmly. "Your little tricks simply will not work."

"If you insist," he grinned, coming into the side cabin as he untied the sash around his waist, dropping in on the bunk. "Night, luv. Sweet dreams."

"They will_ not_ be about you!" she sniped, glaring at him as she flounced from the side cabin.

"Methinks you protest too much…"

"Goodnight!"

…

"Oh no," Celia groaned. "I do _not_ need the toilet." She tossed and turned, telling herself that she could hold out until morning, but in the end she carefully rolled from the hammock, having finally learned the knack of doing so safely and padded across the cabin in the dark, holding her breath in case she woke Jack, and felt her way to the head, sighing as she relieved herself. She crept back out, glancing upwards and then stopping dead at the sight of Jack lying on his bunk, bathed in the glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. Her eyes travelled across his bare torso, taking in his wiry, muscular frame and two round scars on his chest, and found herself edging closer, unable to stop staring at him, until, with a gasp of horror, she looked at his face and his dark eyes watching her. She turned and fled as fast as she dared back in to the main cabin, her cheeks burning with mortification.

"Sweet dreams, Celia," Jack muttered to himself with a smile as he turned over, falling back asleep almost instantly.

…

**Authors notes:**

one turn is half an hour – one turn of the watch glass

For this story, I have completely ignored British, or rather English history, because with the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII, there were precious few Catholics and even fewer convents and monasteries in the country. I did toy with making her Scottish or Irish but decided against it.

Ani


	13. Chapter 13

Usual disclaimer – bah humbug!

Many thanks for your reviews, it's always a thrill to read your comments.

Richgal – thank you for pointing that out. I have to confess I never even knew it was a take on a Shakespearian quote!

Sorry, but there won't be any naughtiness for a few chapters yet!

…

**Chapter Thirteen**

Celia dreaded gettin up the following morning, but to her astonishment, Jack behaved as if nothing happened. '_Maybe he wasn't really awake_,' she thought, drawing some comfort from it. She dressed quickly, pulling on the still hated breeches and adjusting the shirt to ensure she wasn't exposing too much of herself, then stepped out into the main cabin, smiling uncertainly at Jack who was leaning over the table with Myles Burford and pouring over a chart. "Where are we going next?" she enquired.

"We're headin' fer th'Turks," Myles informed her. "An' then out into th'ocean."

"Oh. Why?"

"Ships, my dear Miss sweet an' innocent," Jack grinned. "There's plenty of ships comin' over from Europe an' we're hopin' ter welcome them to th'Caribbean," he chuckled, winking at his laughing crewman.

"I see," Celia replied in a tight voice. "I will go and find Mister Gibbs for some work."

"You do that, luv," Jack smiled, staring deep into her eyes and shaking her from her earlier complacency as she now knew that he had been awake. "I'll see you later, eh?"

"Y-yes," she nodded, hurrying from the cabin to get away from his probing eyes and colliding with Noah Trinity on the deck. "Oh… I-I'm sorry."

"S'all right, Miss," the burly black man smiled. "I should've been lookin' where I was goin' to."

"H-have you seen Mister Gibbs?" she stammered, still uneasy amongst the crew.

"He's down in th'mess. If yo hurry, there should still be some grub left."

"Oh. Thank you," she smiled, hurrying over to the hatch and hoping she could remember the way to the mess. '_Goodness, I must have slept in_,' she thought as she tentatively made her way along the gloomy corridor. '_Why didn't he wake me_?'

"I see yer remember th'way," came Oliver Fernan's brogue from behind her.

"I _am_ going the right way then?" she asked, relief evident in her voice. "I wasn't too sure."

"When yer get settled, I'll ask th'Cap'n if I can show yer around th'ship – so yer don't get lost, like."

"That's very kind of you, Mist… _Oliver_," Celia smiled. "I don't think I shall ever get used to calling you by your christian name."

"You'll be callin' us much worse by th'time yer leave us," he chuckled. "Here we are."

"Just in time," Tobias Pellew observed. "There ain't much porridge left."

"I'm sorry," Celia blushed as all eyes swiveled to her. "I did not realise the time. I shan't be late again."

"Ah, don't yer worry about it. There's always summat ter eat," the cook winked, handing her a wooden bowl with the last of the porridge in.

"Come an' sit here, Miss," Elliot Deane beckoned. "There's still some water in th'pitcher."

"Thank you," she smiled shyly, sitting besides him and eating her gruel in silence as the men talked and joshed amongst themselves.

"So, d'yer enjoy keepin' th'Cap'n's bunk warm?"

Celia's head shot up and she stared in dismay at the speaker, a tall, swarthy looking man, with a long sailor's plait trailing down his back.

"That's enough of that," Toby warned Adam Butler. "Th'Cap'n says she's ter be treated with respect, an' respect is what yer'll show her."

"Just askin'," Butler shrugged. "It ain't like she's a pure virgin any longer, is it? 'Sides, she lived with Aggie an' Giselle, didn't she?"

Celia bowed her head once more, tears of shame prickling her eyes. She desperately wanted to defend herself but she guessed that Jack would not take too kindly to his prowess with women being disputed by her insistance that she was still a virgin.

"You _will_ show her respect," Oliver Fernan growled, hoisting his crewmate to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

"Or else, Paddy?" Celia's tormentor snarled, pushing Oliver's hands away. "Yer've got too big fer yer boots since ya were made helm."

"Don't call me Paddy," Oliver warned. "Say sorry ter Celia then piss off."

"Why should I do what yer tell me, huh?"

"Because he is senior ter you, an' you insulted Miss Hammond, by all accounts," Jack snapped angrily from the corridor. "Now apologise ter both Miss Hammond an' Mouse, then report ter Gibbs fer swabbin' duties, savvy? I think th'whole gun deck an' perhaps the quarterdeck should do it, don't you?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Butler replied in a surly tone. "Sorry," he muttered before stalking from the mess.

"You all right?" Jack enquired, looking at Celia with a frown.

"Yes," she whispered, not daring to raise her head and show her tears. "Fine."

"What did he say?" he asked his helmsman, feeling ready to throw Butler in the brig.

"He asked if I enjoyed keeping your bunk warm," Celia sighed, wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.

"_What_?" Jack exploded. "He'll have more than' bloody swabbin' ter worry about!"

"Leave it, Jack. He's got his punishment – I don't want him to dislike me any more than he already does."

"He disobeyed a direct order by being rude ter you, an' it's Captain…"

"Oh," she gasped. "I-I'm sorry."

"I'll let you off this once," Jack smiled gently, sitting beside her. "He's still goin' ter be punished, though."

"Why? I'm here for the next few months, I'm going to have to get used to it, I suppose," she shrugged. "Please don't punish him further."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite," Celia nodded. "Shall I help Mister Pellew with the dishes?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes please," the cook beamed, imploring his captain with his eyes.

"If you like," Jack agreed. "You sure you're all right?" he asked, raising her chin with his finger until she was looking him in the eyes.

"I'm fine," Celia smiled weakly, feeling as if she was drowning in dark brown pools and grateful that she was sitting down. "I'll have to be, won't I?"

"That's my girl," he grinned, gettin to his feet. "See Gibbs when you've finished an' he'll get someone ter teach you how to mend sailcloth, savvy?"

"Savvy," she replied, standing and collecting the dirty bowls together, then following the cook into the galley where she could wash them.

…

Celia eased her aching back as straight as she dared and looked at Jacob Sumner, hoping he would not give her anything else to repair now that she had finished mending endless pairs of smelly breeches, shirts and small squares of sail. She sucked on a finger which was red raw and bleeding from needle pricks, and smiled gratefully as he shook his head.

"Nah, that'll do us fer today," Jacob grinned. "Yer did a good job, considerin' yer've never sewed like that before."

"Thank you," Celia replied gratefully, accepting his hand to help her up and wobbling slightly with the sway of the ship as they sailed through some of the many Bahamian islands. "I just hope there won't be any more to do for quite some time."

"I'd best not tell yer there's another pile waitin' ter be done, then," he chuckled. "Sorry."

"Oh," she groaned, closing her weary eyes. "Come back Mister Penhalligan's."

"What was he like ter work fer?" Sumner asked inquisitively. "I hear he's a lecherous bastard."

"Not to me, he wasn't," she shrugged, ignoring his coarse language. "But then I think he was a little afraid of Syndony."

"Who wouldn't be!" the pirate laughed. "Gawd, she's a harridan."

"I shouldn't say it, but yes, she is," Celia agreed as they walked towards the captain's cabin.

"After what she did ter ya, yer've every right ter say what yer want about th'old hag."

"Who's an old hag?" Jack enquired as he came down the quarterdeck steps.

"Syn Chester," his crewman informed him. "Th'bloody witch. I just hope Marlow is treatin' her how she deserves ter be treated."

"That's not very christian," Celia chided gently. "None of the women deserved to be kidnapped."

"It's not just that," Jacob shrugged. "She makes… everyone's lives a livin' hell, includin' my Mary."

"Mary?" Celia frowned.

"My woman, she works, _worked_ fer Syn at th'brothel. Used ter come home black an' blue some mornings, an' it wasn't th'men that did it."

"I see," the young woman frowned, well believing what he had said, having seen the madame's behaviour from her time at Penhallick's mansion. "Well, thank you for your patience with me," she smiled.

"'Tis a pleasure, M'am," Jacob winked. "See yer in th'mess, later."

"No you won't, we're dinin' in my cabin," Jack told him, smiling wryly at Celia's look of alarm. "Not so long ago, you didn't want to dine anywhere _but_ my cabin…" he teased her.

"Not so long ago, you were reasonably well behaved," she retorted.

"You could always halve your debt, have less time ter put up with my terrible conduct, eh?"

"You don't give up, do you?" Celia observed, shaking her head ruefully. "How many times do I have to… oh!" she stopped dead upon seeing the table laid out nicely and looked at Jack suspiciously. "What is the occasion?"

"It's Christmas Eve," he smiled. "Don't tell me you've forgotten – a religious lass like yourself? Tsk, tsk!"

"Oh my goodness!" Celia exclaimed, her hands going to her face in horror. "I have completely lost track of time. I haven't observed Advent or anything," she wailed.

"You've been through a lot lately," he soothed. "I'm sure your God will understand, eh?"

"He will have to be _very_ understanding where I'm concerned," she sighed dejectedly. "I have not kept to my vows or promises at all."

"Still doesn't make you a bad person," Jack shrugged. "At least you _do_ try."

"Hmpf! And the road to hell is paved with good intentions," she snorted. "I shall go and wash, if that's all right with you?"

"Of course, luv. I'll just sit here an' start on th'rum."

'_As usual_,' she thought to herself as she walked to the side cabin and then in to the head. '_I can't believe I have forgotten about Christmas. What sort of christian am I_?' she lamented as she stripped out of her working clothes and dipped a rag into the bowl of cold sea water, washing herself as best she could. '_Oh bother_! _I've forgotten to fetch a dress now_!' "Jack," she called. "Could you bring me that blue dress from the trunk, please."

"You'd forget your own head if it wasn't attached ter your shoulders," he quipped with a laugh. "I've put it on th'bunk," he said a few moments later, close enough to make Celia's heart jump.

"T-thank you," she replied a little shakily.

"Were you religious before you joined th'nunnery?" he asked, his voice fading as he moved from the side cabin.

"Not especially," she confessed, stepping into the side cabin and pulling on the dress hastily, rueing the fact that she had no undergarment to put on beneath it. She certainly was not going to ask him to fetch that! "We went to church every Sunday, but that was about it, really."

"So you _were_ runnin' away, then?"

"It doesn't mean that I don't want to serve God now," she stated firmly.

"Only because they filled your head with hellfire an' damnation, I'll warrant," Jack remarked. "I'll bet you're scared that if you don't totally devote your life to God, you'll meet your punishment in th'afterlife, eh?"

"No!" she protested, an uncertain edge to her voice. "It's not like that at all! Why must you be like this?"

"I've seen too much ter believe in a supreme being. An' been through too much…"

"Such as?" Celia asked as she opened the door into the main cabin and looked at him, leaning against the doorframe.

"If I told you, you'd never believe a word of it," he chuckled ruefully.

"Try me," she challenged, jutting out her jaw.

"When you've had a few rums inside you, then maybe…"

"You know perfectly well I do not drink, Jack."

"Not even fer Christmas?" he pouted theatrically, looking at her beneath his lashes.

"Especially not for Christmas," she glowered, huffing at him and trying to ignore the lurch in her stomach at his doe eyes.

"So how did you celebrate Christmas before you got all religious, I wonder?" he enquired, an innocent expression on his face.

"We went to church," Celia sniped, pushing past him and stomping over to the table. "And had friends for dinner."

"Did you drink?"

"I was too young."

"Ah… of course you would have been. Talkin' of family, did you write that letter fer your parents?"

"Yes. I will post it the next port we reach. I just wish I'd had time to post it before we left Nassau."

"It probably wouldn't have reached England from Nassau anyway," Jack shrugged. "In fact, I'd be surprised if th'priest's letter ever arrives at your parents – that is if he writes one at all."

"Why wouldn't it arrive?" she frowned. "Ships arrive and leave all the time."

"Aye, they might leave, but whether they reach their destinations is another matter. Th'pirates know what is goin' on each ship an' if they deem it profitable enough ter hit, they do."

"But then ships will stop using the port, surely?" Celia mused.

"Ah! You've just proved you have more sense than most of th'pirates of th'Spanish Main," Jack laughed, picking up a bottle and toasting her with it.

"And I suspect you have more sense than all of them put together," she remarked, arching an eyebrow.

"Now that, Miss Hammond, is by far an' away th'nicest thing you've said ter me, an' I thank you," he declared, bowing elaborately, being careful not to spill the precious contents of the bottle.

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," she scolded without malice.

"Supper, Cap'n," came Tobias Pellew's voice from outside.

"Well come in, before it gets cold," Jack urged, putting the bottle on the table and rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Hope yer like chicken, Celia," Toby grinned as he and Elliot carried a couple of platters in and laid them on the table.

"Yes, I do," she affirmed. "But this smells like no chicken dish I've ever tasted."

"It's arqui chicken - what th'natives use ter preserve their meats, with spices an' th'like," the burly cook told her. "An' it makes th'meat very tasty."

"It smells it," Celia smiled, blushing as her stomach growled. "Thank you, Toby. I think I'm ready for it!"

"Th'men are tuckin' in?" Jack enquired.

"Oh aye, like there's no tomorrow," Elliot laughed. "Which I suppose, there ain't!"

"There's always tomorrow on board a ship, young Master Deane," Jack reminded him. "I remember how Norrington managed ter capture George Francks last Christmas by cancellin' leave fer all th'Navy."

"Aye, that he did, th'bastard!" Toby spat as he doled out the food onto two pewter plates. "Sorry, Miss."

"It's all right," Celia sighed jadedly, gettin far more used to the swearing than she imagined she would.

"Right, well… enjoy th'food," Toby beamed, putting the plates before Jack and Celia. "It's good even if I say so meself."

"We shall," Jack grinned, picking up his knife and fork. "Keep me informed if there's any trouble, savvy?"

"Shall do, Cap'n," the cook deferred as he and Elliot turned and left the cabin.

Jack paused as Celia bent her head to say grace then carved up a piece of the spiced meat, savouring the flavour as he ate it. "Get stuck in," he mumbled through a mouthful.

Celia picked up a small piece of the chicken on her fork, eyeing it doubtfully. In spite of her assurances to the cook, she was not really looking forward to trying it.

"Won't kill you," Jack teased, his eyes dancing with merriment. "Starvation might, however…"

"All right," she replied, tentatively putting it into her mouth and chewing. "Oh, goodness, it's…"

"Spicy?" Jack chuckled. "Aye, but you'll get used ter that."

"It is nice," Celia admitted, picking up a goblet and taking a sip to rid her mouth of the strange, hot sensation. "This is wine," she observed caustically.

"They have wine at communiun, don't they?"

"Stop being pedantic."

"Stop being fussy."

"You are impossible!"

"As are you…"

"This is ridiculous," Celia retorted, though a mouthful of food. "You're behaving like a child."

"_I'm_ behavin' like a child?" Jack echoed. "You started it! Can we please just have a nice quiet supper, fer once?" he pleaded.

"All right," she sighed. "And I _had_ used to drink wine occasionally at home," she admitted, "so I doubt this will make me any more of a sinner than I already am." Celia looked up as she heard what sounded like music from the deck and glanced at Jack quizzically.

"Th'men get together every now an' then an' have a sing-song. "We'll go an' join them later, eh?"

"Yes… we shall," she nodded, eating her food in wonder at yet another surprise on board the pirate ship. "So, how do _you_ spend Christmas?"

"Same as we will this year," he chuckled. "Have fine food, fine wine and get as drunk as humanly possible."

"And before you were a pirate?" Celia enquired innocently, sighing with exasperation and he grinned at her and shook his head. "Why is your past life such a secret?" she demanded irritably.

"Because it's piqued your interest," Jack laughed. "An' that can only be a good thing, eh?"

"It can?" Celia enquired acerbically.

"Of course. You see, women are like cats - they have th'most terrible curiousity. Therefore if you keep a secret from a woman, she'll become more an' more interested in you, savvy?"

"Well, it won't work with me," Celia declared firmly.

"It already is," Jack laughed. "Why else do yer keep bringin' up my past, eh?"

"Oh…" she sighed crossly, glowering at him and vowing to never ask another question about him again as she finished off her meal.

"Come on, let's go an' enjoy th'entertainment before they get too drunk ter play or sing."

"All right," she agreed, still glaring at him as he helped her from her chair and offered his arm. "But I don't intend staying on deck 'til all hours," she stated, slipping a reluctant hand into the crook of his elbow and allowing him to escort her on to the main deck.

"Of course not," Jack murmured, glancing sideways at her with a knowing grin on his face.

…

"Day is nearly over now, the night will soon be gone,  
And I must leave my lady with the coming of the dawn,  
Though short our time together, yet there's love to fill a heart,  
And keep us close whenever we must be so far apart.

_I wish my love could come with me  
or I with her could stay,  
But she can't go and I well know  
that I must be away._

_I think about the many times I've been far from my home,  
That place wherein my lady dwells whilst I am forced to roam  
I think about the happy times, returning for a while,  
Again to see the face that says: "I love you"; with its smile._

_Around the world and back again or gone for just a day,  
It matters not how short the time, away is still away,  
A world is only half-explored by someone on his own,  
And soon we two together round this whole wide world shall roam._

_(I must be away.)_"

Celia gasped in amazement at the sound of Matthias Swain's baritone voice as he sang the song, joined in by the crew for the chorus, and she glanced at Jack, an incredulous look on her face.

"Told you they could sing," he chuckled, shifting his position on a barrel to get more comfortable. "Do you want another drink?"

"I really shouldn't," she slurred. "I'm feeling quite dizzy…"

"Then you need another drink ter help with th'dizziness."

"Really…? Why is that?"

"It makes it go away, savvy?"

Celia frowned, unsure as to whether to believe him or not but he jumped from the barrel and swayed his way over to where Adam Butler was dispensing the rum, before she could say anything.

"You all right, Miss Celia?" Oliver Fernan enquired as he picked his way over to where she was sitting, also on a barrel.

"Fine," she giggled, feeling decidedly light headed. "Just waiting for the captain to return with another drink."

"Do you think it's wise havin' another one?"

"Oh, yes. He assured me that it's just what I need to make the dizziness go away..." Celia shrieked as she overbalanced and fell off the barrel, only saved from crashing to the deck by Oliver's quick reaction. "Oh dear… I feel quite…"

"I think she's had enough, don't you, Cap'n," the Irishman frowned as Jack returned with two beakers full of rum.

"That's fer me to decide," Jack retorted, leaning forward and squinting at Celia even though she was a mere six inches away from him. "I think yer've had enough," he declared, shoving the extra beaker into the helmsman's hand. "You have it, Mouse."

"But I want it!" Celia pouted, reaching for the drink. "It's not fair!"

"I think yer need ter sleep," Oliver suggested, holding the drink out of her reach.

"I don't need to sleep, I'm wide awake. Now give me the drink!" she shouted, aiming a kick at his shins.

"Shall I take her to yer cabin, Cap'n?"

"No you bloody well won't! Come on young lady," Jack cajoled. "Time fer bed."

"I am _not_ tired," she shouted, pushing Jack away and cannoning into Oliver, sending both her and the tall Irishman crashing to the deck.

"You may not be tired," Oliver commented, trying to move his hand which was trapped between the deck and her breast without drawing attention to the fact it was there. "But yer sure are drunk."

"_Mister_ Fernan! I most certainly am _not_ drunk."

"Mouse is right," Jack drawled, grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet. "You are drunk an' you need ter sleep it off, savvy?"

"Oh, Jack," Celia sighed histrionically. "I do feel rather…"

"Sweet Mary," Joshamee Gibbs swore as he looked at the young girl, leaning heavily on Jack. "What have you been giving her to drink?"

"Only a goblet of wine an' two beakers of rum," Jack defended, looking hurt. "That's all…"

"Two beakers of rum too many, if you ask me," Gibbs chided. "Let me help you get her to the cabin."

The two men half carried, half dragged the drunken woman across the main deck to the captain's cabin, almost gettin trapped in the door as they tried to manoeuvre themselves inside.

"I'll take her now, Gibbs," Jack told him, shifting so he took Celia's full weight. "Come on, missy."

"Oh, Jack…" she murmured dreamily, nuzzling his neck.

"Eh? You don't want ter be doin' that," he chuckled, grateful for the fact that his quartermaster had left the cabin. "Wait until you're sober an' know what you're doin', _then _you can do it all you like, savvy?"

"But I want to do it now," Celia pouted. "It's so horrible, everybody only wanting me because my ca… cer… cherry! That's it - my cherry hasn't been eaten."

"Picked, luv," Jack laughed. "Picked."

"Picked, eaten – whichever. That's all people want me for. I'm so unloved!" she cried dramatically, somehow managing to move herself round so she was in Jack's arms. "Love me!"

Jack's eyebrows shot up as she kissed him forcibly and pressed her body into his, her hands cupping his buttocks as her tongue thrust into his mouth and explored with little expertise.

"Whoa," Jack gasped as he pushed her away gently. "Slow down."

"No. You want me, I want to not have a cherry, so let's do it." Celia pressed her lips against his once more and tangled her fingers in his hair, anchoring him firmly in place whilst Jack wound his arms around her and returned the kiss with equal fervour.

"You really should wait until you're sober," he murmured into her ear as he explored it with his tongue whilst manoevering them both towards the side cabin and bunk.

"Why? I will still feel the same," she replied, pulling away from him and undoing the laces down the front of her dress.

"No, you won't," he chuckled, batting her hands away and untying them quicker than she had been doing. "But don't let that stop you, eh?"

"I do not intend to, Captain Sparrow," Celia delcared, nodding her head firmly and reaching for his shirt buttons. "I'll undress you and you can undress me."

"Let's get you out of your things first, then we can concentrate on me, eh?"

"All right," she giggled, shrugging her dress from her shoulders and exposing well rounded, snow white breasts.

"Bloody hell," Jack murmured, cupping them in his hands and rubbing his thumbs over her pert nipples.

"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly anxious.

"Oh, nothing," he sighed contentedly, his eyes feasting on her generous bosom. "Nothing at all… let's get this dress off you." He tugged at the material until it slid past her hips and she stood before him, naked. "Beautiful," he smiled, raking her body and feeling his manhood harden further, which he had not thought possible.

"Why thank you, Captain," Celia tittered, turning away from him and walking unsteadily over to the bunk and flopping down on it. "Maybe Mister Fernan was right – I do feel a little tired…"

Jack watched in horror as she closed her eyes, a dreamy smile playing on her lips as she drifted quickly off to sleep. "No, no, no, no…!" he wailed, throwing his hands up in the air. "_No_…"

…

**Author's notes:**

Carqui is another name for jerk, which does exactly as it says in the tin!

The title of the song is Away and I don't own the words to that either.

I didn't time the sequence of my chapters very well – if I had, you'd have read this two weeks ago!

Ani


	14. Chapter 14

Cursed disclaimers!

Thanks, as always, for your reviews – although I can never have too many of them! (hint, hint)

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Jack opened a bleary eye, wondering why his bunk felt softer than usual until he remembered and he blinked a few times, focusing on the woman sleeping beside him, one arm curled beneath her head and the other flung carelessly across him. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and resisted the urge to kiss her sleep plumped lips. '_Why do you affect me so_?' he mused as he lay on his side watching her in the pale morning light. '_Why couldn't you have been a woman of the world instead of an innocent girl_?' Jack chuckled softly to himself. '_It's because she's innocent that you find her so appealing_,' he realised, shaking his head and smiling, ackowledging that there were times during his life when he felt jaded and in need of more agreeable things that had nothing to do with piracy and lawlessness. He uttered a sigh as Celia snuggled up closer to him, pressing her soft body against his, causing stirrings in his groin. '_Bloody hell_,' Jack cursed, trying to inch away from her as desire swept through his blood, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms but knowing he would lose her trust forever if he did. He held his breath as she muttered in her sleep and rolled ever closer to him, then inched away again until he found himself at the edge of the bunk with nowhere left to go but the cabin deck.

"Jack…" Celia murmured sleepily, a smile playing on her lips. "Jack!" Her eyes shot open and she stared in horror at him grinning sheepishly at her. "Oh, Lord, no!" she wailed, grabbing the coverlet and pulling it up to her chin.

"Ah… a tad late fer that, I'm afraid," Jack informed her with a rueful smile.

"How could you?" Celia cried, instantly regretting the noise as her head pounded with pain. "Oh…" she groaned, loosing the covers and holding her head.

"I didn't," he defended. "You fell asleep!"

"But you were going to," Celia retorted, glaring at him accusingly. "Oh, my head…"

"Actually, luv… it was you who were all over me," he smiled winsomely. "I virtually had ter fight you off."

"You liar! How could you tell such a barefaced lie to me?"

"All right," he shrugged. "Maybe I didn't _actually_ fight you off…"

"I would never had thrown myself at you," she croaked, wishing her head did not belong on her shoulders. "Never! Now let me go."

"I'm not actually holdin' you, luv. It's th'other way around…"

"Get out – out!" Celia ordered, pushing him and making him fall from the bunk, landing on the deck with a thud.

"Ow! What th'hell did you do that for?" he grumbled as he gingerly picked himself up, wincing as Celia screamed. "You'll regret doin' that…" he warned, nodding to himself as she held her head once more, whimpering with the pain. "Told you."

"You're naked," she whispered, not daring to speak any louder. "Cover yourself up, _please_."

"You're as naked as me," Jack chuckled, pulling a blanket from the bunk and wrapping it around his middle.

"Oh, Lord, don't remind me… why did you let me drink so much? Did you plan it?"

"Actually, no," he admitted. "You were frettin' over not realisin' it was Christmas an' worried about minglin' with th'men, so I thought it'd relax you a little. I guess I underestimated how relaxed you'd actually be – sorry, luv."

"Please, Jack - just this once, tell me the truth. Did I throw myself at you?"

Jack pulled a face as he wondered whether to tell her the truth or not, before nodding slowly. "I guess th'booze let you admit ter yourself how you really feel, eh?"

"Don't start," Celia sighed. "I'm not in the mood. Oh, crikey – I'm going to…" Celia shot off the bunk and all but dived into the small side cabin, retching into the head.

"Be sick?" Jack finished with a wry smile. "I think we'll stick ter wine in future, eh?"

"Better still, no alcohol at all," she muttered, still with her head halfway down the hole cut into the planking.

"That'd make life exceedingly borin'," he mused, walking over to the side cabin and leaning on the doorframe, watching her sympathetically.

"It would save feeling like this. How in the world can you drink as much as you do? _Why_ do you drink as much as you do?"

"Firstly, I'm used ter drinking, although I don't drink as much as people suspect I do. Secondly, ter relieve th'boredom sometimes. It gets very lonely an' very borin' being captain of a ship. Sometimes th'bottle's your only friend, savvy?"

"So get a pet then," she sniped, her queasiness making her crotchety.

"We do have cats on board, but they never come in my cabin. I blame Barbossa, myself."

"You've mentioned him before. Who is he?"

"When you're feelin' better, I'll tell you. But right now, what you need is some food inside you."

"Oh, no," she groaned, heaving once more. "I couldn't, really…"

"It's th'best thing. Soak up what's in your stomach. I know fer a fact that Toby has some fresh flour in, so th'bread is likely ter be nicer than normal. How about I send fer some, eh?"

"You can have it, I won't even look at it," Celia declared, easing herself upright, then remembering she had nothing on. "Did you… touch me?" she asked fearfully, wanting to cover herself with her hands but realising the futility of it.

"Only when you were willin'. As soon as you fell asleep, all I did was hold you, savvy?"

"W-where did y-you touch me?"

"Just your breasts," Jack assured her. "Nowhere else, I promise."

"I thought you were supposed to be the infamous Jack Sparrow," she teased, smiling weakly.

"I am – so a word of this ter anyone an' it's down ter th'brig with you!" he warned with a broad wink. "I'll get my breeches on an' send fer some bread."

Celia hurried to the bunk, covering herself up to the chin once more, and tried not to watch as Jack retrieved his breeches from the cabin deck and leaned against the edge of the bunk to pull them on. "Did I… make a fool of myself in front of the crew?"

"A little," he chuckled. "But they'll never remember it. Not th'amount of rum I provided fer them last night."

"Was there no-one on watch then?"

"Aye – they'll have their party tonight. Care ter join them?" he joked, flashing her a golden grin.

"I think I'll pass," she winced. "Does that mean we get another nice meal?"

"Heh! It does, as a matter of fact. But we'll be havin' it in th'mess." Jack padded across the main cabin and pulled open the door, his eyes scanning the decks for any sign of trouble or a crewman slacking on watch duties. But to his relief, all seemed well with his precious ship. He picked his way over prostrate bodies strewn across the decks until he reached the hatch and leaned down, yelling for someone to bring food to his cabin, then made his way back to his cabin, unsurprised to find Celia finishing dressing. "It shouldn't be long," he smiled, undressing her once more in his mind's eye.

"I hope that you don't think that because I… well, you know, that I will be willing another time," she told him. "It was purely because I am not used to drink that I behaved as I did. Do not read any more into it."

"If that's what you want ter believe," Jack shrugged. "But you an' I both know differently, eh?"

"Yer breakfast, Cap'n, Miss Celia," Oliver Fernan announced as he pushed open the cabin door with his foot, his hands being burdened with a tray filled with bread and cheese and a pitcher of water.

"That was quick. Toby out fer th'count?" Jack enquired.

"Dead as a nail," the Irishman confirmed. "As are most of them."

"But not you," Celia observed, smiling warmly at him.

"I can hold my drink better than most," he bragged. "An' I didn't drink all that much last night, anyway."

"I wish I hadn't," she lamented. "Oh, goodness!" Celia exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "I embarrassed myself in front of you! I am so sorry, Oliver."

"Ah, don't yer be worrin' about it," he grinned. "Happens ter us all."

"That'll be all," Jack sniped, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. "Oliver?" he enquired once his crewman had closed the door behind himself and turning to face her, a dark frown creasing his brow. "Since when have you two been firm friends?"

"What is wrong with us being friends?" Celia enquired crossly. "I thought you wanted me to integrate with the crew."

"You're right," Jack soothed, inwardly telling himself to keep the Irishman away from the young woman as much as he could. "I apologise. Now, young lady, get some of this food inside yer an' you'll soon feel better."

"I can't, Jack," she fretted. "I'll be sick again, I know I will."

"Just try a hunk of bread, eh?" he suggested, breaking some off the loaf and holding it out to her. "That won't kill you."

"It's not the killing bit that worries me," she groaned, looking at the bread as if it were about to burst into flames but reaching out and taking it from him, nonetheless.

"Hair of th'dog always works fer me," Jack chuckled, pouring himself a mug of ale and downing it almost in one go.

"Yes, well, you're not normal," Celia sniped, taking a small nibble of the bread then a larger bite as her stomach growled.

"Damn! Yer learned that quicker than most," he quipped, chuckling into his mug. "You up to more sewin' today?"

"But… it's Christmas!" Celia protested. "You can't expect me to work on Christmas day?"

"Th'crew have ter work – th'_Pearl_ won't sail herself," Jack shrugged. "Don't see why you should get th'day off, just because it's Christmas."

"I would if I worked at Mister Penhallick's," she pouted, glowering at him as she chewed the bread.

"I doubt it, an' besides, yer _not_ workin' for him now – you're workin' for me, savvy?"

"Don't I know it," she muttered darkly. "I'd better get on with it before you throw me in the brig."

"Stop being childish," Jack sighed. "It doesn't become you…" He watched as the young woman stomped from the cabin, shook his head ruefully. "You've certainly got a lot ter learn, young lady," he mused aloud. "An' I look forward ter teachin' yer."

"Sail ho!" cried Noah Trinity from high on the main mast rigging. "I think it's English, Cap'n."

"Bugger!" Jack swore as he dashed from his cabin as squinted up to see which direction his crewman was pointing before taking out his spyglass and peering through it at the billowing white sails to the starboard horizon. "Damn, but you've got good eyes, Noah," he muttered in awe as he saw the Union Jack fluttering wildly in the breeze. He looked around at the crew, most still out cold or nursing violent hangovers and he weighed up the pros and cons of attack.

"There's half th'crew capable," Oliver reported as he approached his captain. "They've likely had a long journey an' are worn out an' maybe sick…" he added, nodding towards the other ship.

"That still only leaves thirty or so men to attack," Jack pondered, stroking his beard braids.

"Some of th'others are sober enough ter join in," the helmsman informed him.

"We'll follow them fer a while. Give th'crew time ter sober up," he decided with a firm nod.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Oliver beamed, turning away and barking the order to ready the ship for pursuit.

"W-we're chasing that s-ship?" Celia stammered from where she had been standing at the hatchway, listening to what was going on.

"Aye," Jack nodded. "There's no guarantees that we'll attack, so don't start frettin' just yet."

"And w-what am I to do if y-you d-do attack?"

Jack frowned as he finally faced up to the fact that he had a young, frightened woman on board a ship of violence - a ship of war. "You'll be safe enough in my cabin," he lied, knowing that if the other ship retaliated, _nowhere_ on board was truly safe. "They rarely fight back…"

"But they _do_," Celia pressed. "Don't they?"

"Yes, sometimes they do, luv," he sighed. "I'll do everythin' I can ter make sure you're safe, savvy?"

"It doesn't make any difference one way or the other. You cannot ensure my safety, whatever you say. Excuse me, I have work to do…" Celia strode past him, biting her lip and avoiding his eyes as she made her way to the quarterdeck, swab and pail in her hands.

"I don't know we're attacking yet," Jack protested, throwing his arms up.

"But you will one day," came the riposte, over her shoulder.

"We're pirates, luv – it's what we do."

"I never asked to be brought on board."

"Damn!" Jack muttered, unable to reply to her blunt point, instead taking his spyglass and looking once more at the British schooner now to their starboard bow as the _Black Pearl_ changed course and headed towards them.

…

"Is this wise, Jack?" Joshamee Gibbs enquired as he peered through bleary eyes at the ship, now much closer than when his captain had first seen her.

"Pirates fight best when they've had some grog inside them," Jack assured the older man. "Besides, you've recovered well enough an' I'll bet you were th'drunkest of th'lot!"

The quartermaster sighed heavily, knowing it was useless to try and argue once Jack's mind was made up and went on his way, barking orders to men to loose more sail. If they were going to attack, he'd rather get it over and done with than have the chase dragged out all day long.

"Celia, luv," Jack called, as he spotted the former novice making her way down the poop deck steps. "Come here…"

"Yes?" she enquired, easing her aching shoulders from where she had been hunched over yet more sewing. "Please don't tell me you have something else to sew."

"Nah," Jack chuckled, moving behind her and massaging her shoulders, his long, flexible fingers working at the knots. "I just want you ter batten down everythin' in th'cabin, savvy? I'll give yer th'keys to th'trunks an' you can put all breakables away fer me. I'm afraid you'll have ter work out which key is which yerself."

"And what am I to do with myself?" she asked, supressing a shiver at the feel of his fingers on her flesh.

"Get yourself as far away from th'windows as yer can an' wrap as many blankets around you as possible, savvy?"

"What's the point if I won't be by the windows?" Celia wondered, sighing as his fingers eased the pain.

"Because th'splinters are far more deadly than any shard of glass," Jack warned forebodingly. "If you're well wrapped up in thick blankets an' suchlike, you should be safe enough." '_I hope_…' he thought to himself, smiling as he noticed the redness of her neck. "We'll have ter get you a hat," he chuckled. "Can't have yer being burned now, can we?"

"Yes we can!" she stated, shuddering as she remembered the cage in which she had been kept on board the _Sea's Cutlass_, covered to ensure she did not tan and therefore fetch a better price.

"I'm not saying you can't get brown," Jack replied gently, realising the cause of her outburst. "But it hurts like hell when yer burn, savvy?"

"All right," Celia sighed, moving away as the friction of his skin against hers started to make her neck sore. "I shall go and start in the cabin."

"Good girl," he grinned, fishing a bunch of keys from his coat pocket and handing them to her, slapping her bottom as she passed him and shrugging innocently as she glowered at him. "Yer arse is even nicer in breeches," Jack teased, once she was far enough away not to strike him.

'_And your arse is even nicer without them_,' she contemplated wryly to herself, her hands flying to her mouth in horror at the thought. '_How on earth could you think like that_? _You are not some common whore_…' Celia leaned against the cabin doors as she closed them behind her, and sank to her knees. "What are you doing to me?" she wondered aloud, frowning as she remembered never feeling overly shocked when Aggie and Giselle had said similar things about some men. "Maybe I _am_ some common whore," she lamented with a deep sigh, hauling herself back to her feet and wandering over to the trunks, eyeing the many keys ruefully, wondering how on earth Jack could know which key was for which lock.

'_Now_…' Jack pondered, his finger pressing against his lips as he stared in the direction that Celia had gone. '_What on earth did she think that shocked her so, I wonder_…?' he mused, having seen the horrified look on her face as her hands shot up to her mouth. '_I hope it was about me_.' Jack chuckled aloud, drawing curious glances from passing crewmen. "Back ter work, yer scurvy dogs!" he barked, the order losing some of its bite thanks to the smile still hovering on his lips.

…

Celia whimpered as another boom sounded and the _Black Pearl_ rocked violently in the water. She could hear wood tearing and shattering and she braced herself for the pain of being speared, in spite of her cowering beneath all of the blankets and coverlets she could find, not to mention a couple of (she hoped) old coats of Jack's. She heard groans of someone who had obviously been caught up in the attack and she prayed that it was not Jack. '_Or Joshamee_,' she chided herself, not wanting to care about the pirate captain, or at least, _just_ about the pirate captain. '_Or Oliver_,' she fretted, liking the man more than she realised. "Oh, grief," she muttered. "I don't want anybody to be hurt." But she understood as she said it, that it was more to do with caring about people in general than any affection she might have towards the crew of the pirate ship. Her head shot up as she heard what sounded like muffled cheers and she risked pulling her makeshift protection down and chewing her lip when she realised that they were coming from the decks of the _Pearl_. "Please don't let them kill anyone," Celia prayed, working her rosary beads in agitation. "Oh, I don't think I can bear this…" She fought her way from the protective covering and hurried across to the cabin doors, yanking them open. She cried out in horror as she saw Jack facing a man and holding a sword so the blade flashed between their faces and was about to hurl herself across the deck to stop Jack from killing the man, when she found herself restrained by Oliver Fernan's strong arms.

"Leave it be," he told her. "It won't do ter interfere."

"B-but, he's going to kill him."

"Nah, he's not. Watch…"

Celia could hardly bring herself to look at Jack but soon found herself frowning with confusion as he thrust the sword into his sword belt and nodded at the man before him.

"If yer sail southwest, you'll reach land by nightfall, savvy?" Jack told him.

"T-thank you, I think," the man replied, looking in as much confusion as Celia before turning on his heels and hurrying over to the side, looking in amazement as his crewmates milled about in their ship's boats, their captain having been killed in the second wave of cannon fire from the pirates.

"Off yer go then, before I change my mind…" Jack chuckled menecingly.

"W-why?" Philip Metcalfe, first mate of the _Felixstowe Maiden_, enquired as he climbed over the rail to the Jacob's ladder, not understanding why the pirates were releasing them.

"Because, son, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?" Jack watched as he scurried down to the boat, urging his men to row quickly in a southwesterly direction, and he grinned broadly. There had not been much in the way of goods in the hold of the ship, but she was as fine a specimen of galleon as Jack had seen for quite some time and he looked forward to selling her in Tortuga, where he had now decided they were headed.

"You let them go?" came Celia's excredulous voice beside him, breaking him from his reverie.

"Aye, luv. I let them go."

"But… why…? You're pirates…"

"Not all pirates are th'same. I expect not all nuns are th'same, are they?"

"N-no… but…" Celia gulped as Jack cupped her face in his calloused hands and stared into her dark brown eyes, a mirror image of his own.

"One day you'll learn… you'll actually listen when I tell yer that not everythin' is black an' white. There are many shades of grey. Good pirates an' bad pirates. Good clergy an' bad clergy, good lovers an' bad lovers," he teased, kissing the tip of her nose. "Now get yourself back in the cabin… an' bolt th'doors," Jack added quietly. Many of his crew were still alcohol fuelled and the bloodlust continued to flow through their veins. He did not want Celia in the firing line if men started to fight, or worse, decide that they wanted a woman badly enough to attack her and hang the consequences.

"W-why?"

"Don't ask, just do, savvy?"

Celia nodded, the tone in his voice brokering no arguments, and she hastened back across the deck, smiling weakly at Oliver, before disappearing into the cabin and throwing the bolts with trembling fingers. She did not know why Jack had ordered her back in, and she was not sure she wanted to judging by the look on his face as well as the tone in his voice.

"Burford, get together a crew of around twenty men an' go over to th'galleon," Jack ordered. "Make fer Tortuga, savvy? Oh, an' Myles… make sure they're men you can trust, eh?"

"Aye, Cap'n," the helmsman nodded, understand his captain's meaning. He would not mutiny and make off with the galleon, but he knew that some amongst the crew would not hesitate.

"We'll cover yer," Jack told him. "Don't bother with th'guns, just sail her in."

"We will," Myles agreed before going to seek out men he already had in mind.

Jack nodded to himself, knowing their prize was in good hands and made his way across to his cabin, knocking on the door when he reached it. "It's me, Celia, let me in."

"Is it all over now then?" she asked as she opened the doors to him. "Why did you tell me to come in here and lock the doors?"

"Yes, it's all over," Jack assured her, turning to throw the bolts back again. "An' some of th'men are still drunk – they're likely ter start fightin' amongst themselves – I don't want yer caught up in th'middle of it," he evaded, seeing no reason to frighten her with the truth.

"So why have you locked the doors again? Surely they wouldn't fight in here, would they?"

"Yer never know," he shrugged. "Some lose control an' I don't want ter risk it."

"You mean they might attack _me_," Celia sighed, finally coming to the reality of the situation. "And you wouldn't be able to stop them…"

Jack sighed heavily, cursing the fact that the young woman was more astute than she appeared. "Nah," he lied, he hoped convincingly. "I was mutineed against, led by that Barbossa I've mentioned. They were mostly out of their minds with drink at th'time, except _him_." Jack spat the last word with such venom that it made Celia start and look at him a little worriedly. "I know what drink does ter men – how it affects those whose minds aren't strong."

"I-I see," she nodded. "So, shouldn't you be out there, looking out for trouble?"

" I intend ter be, I just wanted ter make sure you're all right, savvy?" Jack smiled, relieved to see that she apparently believed him. "Not hurt, are you?"

"No. Just a little shaken, that's all. I-I thought y-you were going to kill that man."

"I don't kill fer th'sake of it, luv. I'm not a callous bastard."

"I know you're not," Celia sighed. "It's just… I have this idea of what pirates should be like and you just don't fit into the _ideal_ pirate. _Why _are you a pirate?"

"I don't have time ter go through my life history," Jack shrugged apologetically. "Not that I intend ter anyway," he teased, winking at her. "Now, don't open th'door ter anybody but me, savvy?"

"All right," Celia frowned, fear churning in her stomach. She knew that he was not telling the truth about the only danger being from the men fighting. "W-what if… never mind," she sighed, turning away from him.

"What if what?" Jack enquired, reaching out and stopping her from moving. "You'll be safe enough in here," he told her gently, turning her back to face him.

"What if something happens to you? How safe will I be then?" she demanded, biting her lip.

"Celia, luv," he sighed, pulling her to him and holding her, a tendril of unease snaking its way inside him. "Nothin's goin' ter happen ter me, savvy? We hit ships all th'time an' they've never gone against me before."

"You've never had an _innocent young virgin_ on board before," she snapped, mocking herself with a snort of derision and feeling altogether too comfortable in his arms.

"They don't think that you're an innocent young virgin, savvy?"

"Oh… but I'm still in danger, aren't I?"

"No," Jack assured her, squeezing her tighter. "I'm just being over cautious." He drank in her scent, wishing her hair was longer so that he could bury his face in it, but instead, reluctantly pulled away. "Now I _really_ must be goin'."

"I can open the door to Joshamee and Oliver, though, can't I?" she smiled.

"No! Just me. Promise me, Celia."

"Oh, now you are being silly, Captain Sparrow," she chided. "Joshamee and Oliver wouldn't harm me…"

"Maybe not, but you're not openin' th'door to them," he ordered firmly as he walked across the cabin to the doors.

"All right," Celia sighed, rolling her eyes at him and thinking that he was making a mountain out of a molehill. "I promise I won't open the door to anybody but you, happy?"

"Ecstatic," he grinned, turning to plant a kiss on her head. "See yer later!"

"No doubt," she replied, closing the door and pushing to bolts firmly in place before heading for the stern seats and the bible which he had brought her.

…


	15. Chapter 15

Usual disclaimers – pah!

Many thanks for your reviews and to Kat for correcting my mistakes.

Hils wishes to send an apology – she had hoped to upload the new story which we had devised between us, by now, but unfortunately her editor's computer has given up the ghost. When it is finally published, I shall let you all know!

Ani

…

**Chapter fifteen**

"Twenty gold bars!" Elliot Deane exclaimed with wide eyes. "That _is_ good, ain't it?"

"Not as good as I'd hoped," his captain informed him with a theatrical sigh. "But yes, young Mister Deane, it is good." In fact it was better than Jack had hoped for after he and his crew had stripped the galleon of all good armourments and replaced them with older and less powerful ones from the _Black Pearl_, and swapped good sails for patched up ones. It was much, much better and he felt a grin creep across his face. '_What can I buy Celia by way of celebration_?' he mused, pressing his finger to his lips as he thought. '_A new dress? Nah_,' Jack dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, nearly hitting Gabriel Jennings in the face. '_Shoes_? _Books_? _Jewels_? _Oh, bugger it_! _I'll ask Aggie_…'

"Cap'n?"

"Hmm?" Jack shook his head as the voice of Matthias Swain penetrated his thoughts. "What?"

"Are yer comin' ter th'Bride?"

"Later," Jack replied vaugely, waving his men on. "I'll join yer later."

"Bloody hell, he's got it bad fer her," Elliot sniggered once they were out of earshot. "He's even more daft than usual."

"That ain't possible," Adam Butler snorted scathingly. "An' he'll soon tire of her once she's learned all th'tricks."

"Don't talk about th'cap'n like that," John Orchard warned, flexing his muscular frame. "He's th'best cap'n I've ever served under, pirate or no."

"He's still daft though," Elliot shrugged.

"Yer th'one who's daft fer thinkin' th'cap'n is," the ship's carpenter snapped. "I think I'll head fer Scarlett's first," he told his crewmates, feeling his blood rising and not wanting to get into a fight with them. "Catch yer later."

"Th'Bride'll be dry by th'time yer an' th'cap'n get there."

"Scarlett'll be dry by th'time I've finished with her," John replied, roaring with laughter as he made his way down an alley towards where the whore usually bartered her trade.

…

Celia went to hurry across the small town square as she spotted Jack, then stopped as he bent to kiss a woman on the cheek, scolding herself as a pang of jealousy stabbed at her. '_You do not like him_,' she told herself. '_He is a pirate_…' But her words to herself did little to alleviate the unease she felt. She backed away as he turned, but was too late and forced as smile as he saw her and waved.

"Celia, luv!" Jack beamed, striding across the square. "Just th'person…"

"Yer cheated me!" a voice snarled from a doorway as Jack passed. "Yer bid over th'odds fer _her_, just so I wouldn't have her."

"Eh?" Jack puzzled, his step faltering as he looked at the glassy eyed, drunken figure with a frown, which turned to a look of concern as he saw a dagger being waved mere inches from his face. "What th'fuckin' hell are you on about?" he snapped, dropping a parcel he'd been carrying and reaching for his sword belt.

"One hundred guineas fer that'whore. Thought yer'd show me up, did ya?" He lunged forward, aiming the tip of the stiletto at Jack's heart and cursing the quick reactions of his quarry as the pirate captain dodged out of the way at the last moment.

"_Jack_!" Celia shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth in shock and fear. "Oh, dear Lord…" She took a couple of steps forward and stopped as Jack mounted a counter-attack with his own dagger, forcing the assailant back into the doorway.

"I don't even know who th'hell you are," Jack retaliated. "Why th'fuck would I want ter show you up, eh?" He darted forward, hoping to at least disarm the man, but found himself falling backwards as his aggressor tackled him and pinned him to the ground.

"No!" Celia screamed, running for all she was worth as the stranger drew out a pistol and cocked it, aiming straight at Jack's head. She hurled herself at him, knocking him off balance just as a shot rang out.

"Yer bitch!" the man spat, before smiling a nasty smile. "Well, well, well…" He reached out and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling her towards him and over Jack's prone body. "Look who it is… I think yer an' me'll be goin' somewhere quieter an' I won't have ter pay a hundred guineas fer ya."

Celia glanced down in horror at Jack, his best shirt already stained red with his blood, which was pooling on the cobbles beneath him. "Over my dead body," she hissed, smashing her head into his face and making him reel back.

"Yer can join him after I've finished with ya, slut!" he growled, reaching for her once more.

"No yer bleedin' won't," another voice bellowed and Celia looked in amazement as Jack's attacker went flying through the air away from her.

"John," she gasped, looking up at the ship's carpenter as he advanced on the combatant with his pistol drawn. She winced and looked away as he took aim and fired without hesitation, showering onlookers with blood.

"Celia, Cap'n!" the burly man exclaimed, turning and hurrying back to them.

"H-he's dead…" she gulped, tears springing to her eyes. "Oh, dear Lord…"

"No he's not. Come on, get him back ter th'ship."

"He's not?" she echoed, staring at John and then down at Jack, blanching at his pallid features. "How do you know?"

"He's breathin', but we need Matty ter look at him."

"Surely there's a qualified doctor in town? It will do him more harm if he is dragged all across town."

"He belongs on th'ship," John insisted. "Grab his feet."

"Why?" Celia pressed as she scrambled to her feet and slid her hands under Jack's boots.

"If he's on board, no matter in what state, th'men'll accept he's still cap'n. If he's not an' they think he's dyin', there could be mutiny. If he lives then he's lost th'most important thing in th'world, yeah?"

"But this will kill him!" she cried, straining as she lifted his dead weight up.

"Just get him to th'Bride – th'crew are there."

Celia did not reply, concentrating her energy on carrying the heavy, immovable burden, but sending up thanks that the infamous tavern was not too far away.

"John? What's…? Bloody hell!" Joshamee Gibbs swore as he saw who the brawny carpenter and the tall, but slight woman were carrying as he made his way towards his favourite tavern.

"Get help, they're in th'Bride," John gasped with exertion. "How th'hell are you managin' ter carry him?" he panted to Celia, who was by now, red-faced and sweating. "Put him down, they'll be here before long."

Celia gratefully placed Jack's legs carefully on the ground and then tore open his shirt, whimpering as she saw the gaping black hole in his shoulder with blood pumping out of it.

"He'll be all right," John Orchard assured her with more conviction than he felt. "He survived two on th'other side."

"I hope so," she whispered, taking her rosary beads from around her neck and placing them close to the wound and closing her eyes in prayer.

"He don't believe…"

"I do – that's enough," Celia stated, tucking the beads into Jack's coat pocket. "Oh, Lord, please let him live."

They both looked up at a commotion and saw all of the crew, minus Adam Butler, who had gone to the Faithful Bride, running down the street towards them.

"I've got him now," Matthias Swain assured Celia as he took up position at his captain's feet. Deane, Noah, you support his middle, Mouse, you take his shoulders with John. One, two, three – lift!"

"This is still a bad idea," Celia muttered as she followed the cortege down the steep hill towards the docks.

"Th'doctor's in town ain't any better than me," Matthias told her. "He's got as much chance of survival with me pokin' around inside him."

"I don't doubt your skill," Celia assured him. "But surely manhandling him and carting him halfway across Tortuga won't do him any good?"

"If he's goin' ter die, he'd rather die on board th'_Pearl_," Oliver Fernan stated. "Not in some back alley of this stinkin' hellhole."

"He won't die," Celia muttered to herself, fighting the urge to be sick. "He _can't_ die…"

…

Matthias Swain glanced up as Celia staggered in with a pail of hot water, heated on the galley stove. She ripped up her undershift and dipped a length of it in the water, then washed away the blood which was still oozing from the wound in Jack's left shoulder and onto the table where he had been placed.

"Let's see if I can get th'bastard _this_ time," Matthias frowned as he carefully pushed a finger into the wound, causing Jack to jerk involuntarily.

"Maybe I can have a go?" Celia suggested timidly. "My fingers are smaller than yours."

"Yer sure?" the ship's doctor asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Y-yes, I t-think so… what am I looking for?"

"A shot, or a piece of shot. It needs ter come out."

"A-all right," she nodded, moving in position as Matthias removed his finger. "H-how do I-I get i-it out?"

"Yer try an' scoop it – fer gawds sake, don't push it in further!"

"I'll try," Celia gulped, moving to where Matthias had been standing at Jack's shoulder. She gingerly approached the wound, closing her eyes momentarily in prayer before inserting her finger into the hole and grimacing at the feel of the warm, squishy flesh as it surrounded her finger. Gently, Celia pushed down some more, terrified of pushing whatever might be in there out of reach. She almost jumped as the tip of her finger brushed against something hard and she glanced up at Matthias, hovering with an anxious look on his face.

"Yer found it?" he breathed. "Try an' get ter th'side of it then work it upwards."

"All right," Celia whispered, tentatively moving her finger to the side. "Could it be a bone?"

"Yer'll know soon enough."

She gulped again as she felt the unmistakable shape of a shot and thrust her finger in further until it was underneath the round piece of metal, then she started to gently force it up, beads of sweat spotting her forehead.

"Easy does it…" the ship's doctor urged, mopping his own brow with a dirty kerchief.

"I am," Celia hissed, gasping as the shot slipped away from her finger. "Damn it!" She took a deep breath and manoevered back beneath the metal and started easing out once more until it almost flew out of the wound with a loud plop.

"Yer did it!" Matthias exclaimed, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Yer bloody did it!" He grabbed a bottle of Jack's rum and poured it into the open wound, making his captain spasm once more. "Gawd," he frowned. "I hope there's no material in there an' all…"

"Material?" Celia echoed, looking aghast. "What material?"

"From his shirt, like. Sometimes when th'shot goes in, it can take a piece of fabric with it."

"Oh, no," she groaned, cleaning her gore stained finger in the now bloodied pail of water and positioning herself to search in the wound once more.

"Pity yer ripped his shirt – we could have checked it…"

"I'll remember that next time," Celia remarked dryly as she pushed her digit down inside the wound once more.

"Gawd forbid, there'll be a next time," Matthias lamented.

"Isn't there always?"

"Aye," he sighed, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, there is."

Celia fell silent as she probed with her finger until she was completely satisfied that there was no other foreign body in the wound. "What will you do now?" she asked as she withdrew her finger and cleaned it once more.

"Nothin' – at least not until he's got enough skin ter sew th'hole up."

"How long will that take?" she gasped in horror. "You're going to leave that open?"

"Aye, only fer a week or so. He won't let me leave it any longer than that."

"Why ever not?"

"He's cap'n," Matthias shrugged. "He's got ter look strong even if he ain't."

"This is ridiculous," Celia snapped. "He wouldn't even be able to pick up a dagger, let alone a sword."

"He's right handed," Swain reminded her. "He's done it before, he'll do it again. Stronger than he looks, an' than most give him credit fer, is Jack Sparrow."

"Joshamee can look after the ship in his stead, can't he?"

"He will, but it wouldn't – _couldn't_ be fer long."

"Stupid, stupid…" Celia muttered as she looked at Jack, amazed to see a bloom of colour returning to his face.

"He'll be fine," Matty smiled. "Why don't yer sit down before yer fall?"

"I think I will," she sighed, her legs suddenly feeling very weak and wobbly as she staggered to the stern seat and flopped down on it.

"Yer goin' ter nurse him? Yer seem to have a natural temperament fer it."

"Can I?"

"Aye, course yer can, lass. I'm always a shout away if yer need me, eh? Now, let's get th'Cap'n into his bunk."

"All right," Celia sighed, slowly gettin to her feet again.

"Not _you_!" he chuckled. "We've got a ship full of strappin' lads – I'll go an' get a couple of them, eh?"

"Thank goodness for that," she smiled, going to sit but changing her mind and she wandered over to where Jack was lying on the table. She brushed a strand of hair from his face and bent down, gently kissing his forehead. "You idiot," she murmured, quickly straightening up again as she heard Matthias return with some of the crew.

"Let's be 'avin' yer, Cap'n," Thomas Frazer declared as he and Gabriel Jennings approached the table.

"I'll go and pull the covers back," Celia said, hurrying to the side cabin and yanking the blankets back, squashing herself against the bulkhead as the two men, assisted by Matthias, carried Jack into the small cabin and placed him carefully on the bunk. "Could one of you bring in the captain's chair, please? It's more comfy to sit in," she requested.

"Course, Miss Celia," Gabriel smiled, turning on his heel and going back into the main cabin. "Anythin' else yer need?"

"No, I can manage everything else," she called, smiling as the crewman re-appeared with the large, well used chair. "Thank you."

"It's a pleasure, Miss. You just make sure our captain gets better, yeah?"

"I'll try," she promised, sitting down heavily with a weary sigh. What had started out as an enjoyable day catching up with her friends in the pirate town, turned out to be one of the worst she could imagine. She sat watching Jack's chest rise and fall, then she suddenly jumped back to her feet and hurried into the main cabin, to where his coat had been discarded. Celia fished in the pocket until she retrieved what she sought and went back in to Jack, placing her rosary beads beneath the pillow. "I know you don't believe," she whispered. "But it won't do you any harm even if it does no good."

"Celia…?" Jack croaked, trying to force open his eyes but finding them too heavy. "Is that you, luv?"

"Yes!" she replied incredulously, grasping his hand. "You're safe now."

"Where?"

Celia had to bend down so her ear was virtually pressing against his lips before she could hear him. "On board the _Pearl_," she smiled. "Let me just get the chair…"

"Don't leave me," Jack rasped, gripping her hand as tightly as he could.

"Gabriel brought the chair in, I only have to move it up here." Celia gently extracted her hand from his and dragged the chair until she was sitting at his shoulder. "Here I am…" She took his hand once more, stroking it and crooning softly until Jack fell into a deep sleep.

…

"Oh!" Celia's eyes shot open and she raised her head to look at Jack, breathing a sigh of relief as she saw his dark brown eyes watching her.

"Sorry, luv," he smiled weakly. "Didn't mean ter startle yer…"

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep," she apologised. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot," he joked, his half smile turning to a grimace as pain tore through his shoulder. "Did Swain get th'shot out?"

"No, I did," Celia admitted. "My fingers are smaller than his."

"Good girl," he murmured, closing his eyes wearily.

"Do you want a drink of water?"

"Rum'd be nicer, but I don't suppose yer goin' ter let me have any, are you?"

"I think water will do you more good at the moment. But I promise you can have some rum later, all right?" Celia did not wait for his reply but disappeared into the main cabin and over to the doors, calling for some fresh drinking water to be brought in, and for the ship's doctor to come as well.

"I don't need Swain fussin' over me," Jack sighed when she returned. "I'll be all right in a day or so."

"No yer won't, Cap'n," Matthias informed him as he walked in unannounced, obviously having been close by when Celia called for him. "Th'wound's still open – there ain't enough skin ter sew."

"Bugger!" Jack exploded, instantly regretting it as his shoulder burned with renewed agony.

"Here's th'water," Elliot Deane announced, carrying a pitcher and two beakers. "How yer doin', Cap'n?"

"You'll be able to see him later," Celia smiled, taking the utensils from the young man and pushing him firmly out of the side cabin, closing the drapes in his face.

"Never had yer down as assertive," Jack remarked once the pain had subsided enough for him to speak.

"I can be a lot of things when I have to," she replied as she poured some water into one of the beakers and carried it over to him. She slid her hand beneath his head to both lift it and hold it steady as she tipped the container up gently, allowing Jack to sip from it.

"I love assertive women," he teased, his eyes regaining some of their sparkle as he looked at her.

"I can see yer gettin' better already, Cap'n," Matthias winked. "I need yer ter sit up so I can take th'dressin' off."

"_Please_ can I have some rum?" Jack pleaded, beseeching Celia with his eyes.

"I'll be gentle," Swain promised.

"Not as gentle as Celia, I'll warrant."

"I'll do it if you like," she offered. "But don't blame me if it hurts…"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack smiled, but his drawn face giving away how much pain he was in.

"Must you look at it now?" Celia enquired of the ship's doctor. "Can't it wait a day?"

"Nah. Th'blood'll dry an' that would be murder ter get off, eh, Cap'n?"

"Aye." Jack braced himself as his two companions positioned themselves either side of him and lifted him up. He gulped as white hot fire coursed through his shoulder and down his arm, making his fingers tingle with pain. "B-bloody hell," he cursed, sinking back against propped pillows, sweat dripping down his face.

"I'm sorry," Celia fretted, taking a handkerchief from inside the top of her dress and wiping Jack's face with it.

"Not your fault, luv," he croaked, managing a weak smile.

Matthias Swain helped his captain sit up once more and Celia leaned over him, unwinding the bandage holding the rag in place over the wound, taking extreme care not to pull or tug at it and exhaling deeply when the last piece unravelled. She gently eased the rag from his wound, biting her lip as he winced and hissed with pain where the blood had dried and stuck, but finally the wound was exposed and Celia stood back gratefully to allow Matthias to inspect it.

"It's lookin' all right," he beamed. "We'll make a surgeon of yer yet, Celia!"

"I don't think so!" she snorted. "Although no doubt you'll be calling on me to help if anyone else gets injured…"

"If th'Cap'n allows, yes," he chuckled, reaching for a small case and opening it, taking out an earthenware bottle.

"What's that?" she enquired, leaning forward to take a closer look.

"I've died an' gone ter heaven," Jack murmured as her breast brushed against his cheek.

"I'm not sure about heaven," Celia scolded gently as she moved away from him.

"It's from th'aloe plant," Matthias told her, answering her question. "Th'natives use it ter heal their wounds an' burns an' suchlike."

"How on earth did you find out about it?" she wondered.

"I was looked after by natives years ago after I'd been shipwrecked. That's how I got ter be a doctor of sorts. I learned about their medicines an' that."

"W-would you teach me?" Celia enquired hesitantly. "I mean, don't, if you don't want to…"

"I'd love ter," Matthias smiled as he applied the poition librally to Jack's wound. "Yer can practise on th'Cap'n."

"Yes please," Jack sighed, closing his eyes as the cooling potion started to work on lessening the pain.

"Call me if yer need anythin' else. I'll get Toby ter send some food up," the burly man smiled as he stoppered the bottle and replaced it in his case.

"He's probably already onto it," Celia smiled.

"Send Gibbs in," Jack croaked.

"No!" Celia refuted, shaking her head firmly. "You need to rest."

"I'm Captain of this ship. _I_ give th'orders."

"Not whilst you are convalescing. Mister Gibbs is more than capable of running the ship for a few days until you are strong enough to resume command. You may then also throw me in the brig, if you so wish…"

"Don't bloody tempt me, young Missy," Jack growled, glaring at Celia and then at his crewman who was doing a bad job at stifling a chuckle. "Have yer nothin' better ter do?" he snapped, sending Swain on his way. Jack sank back into the pillows, the effort of speaking and the pain of being moved, having worn him out.

"I will have to cover your wound again," Celia apologised, giving him a rueful smile. "And I am sorry I spoke to you like that in front of Matthias."

"Aye…" he sighed, closing his eyes wearily, recoiling as she carefully placed a fresh dressing, which Matthias had left, against the gaping hole in his shoulder. "Just try an' refrain from doin' it in future, eh?"

"I will," she promised, moving him forward so that she could wind another bandage around his chest to secure the dressing.

"At least it shows yer care about me…"

"You don't give up, do you?" she smiled, shaking her head at him. "Even when you're poorly."

Especially when I'm poorly," he chuckled softly. "Play on yer sympathy."

"Ah, well you've just wised me up to your games, Captain Sparrow," Celia teased. "I shall know not to show you an ounce of sympathy whatsoever…"

"Cruel woman," he muttered, flopping back when she finished binding him, his face etched with pain.

"Maybe some rum won't do you any harm now," she mused, going to the main cabin and to where Jack stored his rum, taking a bottle from the chest and carrying it back to him. She hoisted herself up and sat on the edge of the bunk then uncorked the bottle, holding the rim to his lips. "Here you go," she cajoled, tipping it back so some of the dark liquid poured into his mouth.

"Beautiful," Jack whispered. "Did yer pick up th'parcel I'd got with me?" he asked.

"Parcel?" Celia pondered thinking back to when she had spotted him just before the attack. "Oh! No, I didn't think. It wasn't important, was it?"

"I'd brought you a hat ter wear when you're on deck," he smiled weakly. "Just paid Dolly fer it too, I had."

"It doesn't matter," she smiled, tenderly stroking his hair. "I don't really need one…"

"You do, you're fair haired," Jack stated, closing his eyes. "I'll get you one," he murmured, sinking into a deep sleep once more.

…


	16. Chapter 16

Usual disclaimers (wails pitifully)

Many thanks for your reviews. **Richgal**, I suppose different people are affected in different ways by drink, and he's likely to been drunk for a lot of the time, so yes, I think he would have recognised her. **Sauruna**, I would _never_ kill Jack! I might hurt him a little from time to time… ;)

…

**Chapter sixteen**

"So," Celia smiled innocently as she settled in the chair at the side of the bunk. "If you're from a seaport, does that mean you've always been a sailor?"

"Bloody hell," Jack groaned. "It's not fair interrogatin' a man when he's too weak ter fight back."

"I'm not interrogating you," she replied, a sweet smile still on her lips. "Just merely making conversation…"

"Like hell you are. Yes," Jack sighed with exasperation. "I've been sailin' practically since before I could walk. There, happy?"

"Do you come from a long line of seamen?"

"Celia…" he growled, shooting a warning look at her. "My past life ain't anythin' ter get excited about."

"So why is it such a big secret?" Celia protested, throwing her hands up.

"I like ter have secrets – ter keep an air of mystery about myself, savvy?"

"Why? Anybody would think you were a gentleman, or something," she teased, not noticing him start a little where he lay.

"Celia, luv, I've always been Captain Jack Sparrow," he grinned, his hands doing a dance in front of him.

"Not always," she reminded him, picking up her holy book.

"Oh gawd! Yer not goin' ter read me th'bible _again_, are you?" Jack sighed.

"I've only read you a couple of passages," Celia defended. "But I shall read to myself if you _really_ object."

"Can you read me some more Beowulf?" he pleaded, looking at her beneath his lashes, something he had learned during the past couple of days of being looked after by the young woman, was almost guaranteed to win her over, which was also something he intended using to best effect once he was up on his feet.

"All right," Celia sighed, knowing her efforts to convert him were hopeless but she wanted to try as much as she could whilst she still had a captive audience. Jack, as usual, had other ideas. She put her bible down on the chair and went to retrieve the book by Sir Thomas Malory from where she had left it in the main cabin. Celia moved her bible, starting as a piece of paper fell from inside the spine and floated to the cabin deck.

"What's up?" Jack enquired, trying to peer over the side of the bunk at what she seemed to be staring at. "Not a rat, is it?"

"No," Celia murmured, bending to pick the paper up. "It's this… it fell out of the spine."

"So, open it up then," Jack urged, intrigued as to what it could be.

"It's just numbers," Celia mused, turning the paper over and finding nothing else written on it. "Just a set of numbers." She handed the paper the Jack as he beckoned for it.

"Eh?" he puzzled. "Give me yer bible." He leafed through a few pages before turning to the front of the holy book and frowning as he noticed writing on the inner page, smudged so it was almost unreadable. "What does this say?" Jack wondered out loud.

"I don't know… I haven't even noticed it, to be honest." Celia moved to the head of the bunk and peered over Jack's shoulder, looking for the first time at the writing. "It looks like a name…"

"Aye, but whose?" he murmured, concentrating hard on the illegible writing. ""Goo.. Good… damn! I can't make out th'rest. It's Good – somethin'."

"Goodluck?" Celia pondered. "It looks like Goodluck to me."

"Bloody hell!" Jack swore, almost dropping the bible in his lap. "There was a privateer years ago by th'name of Geoffrey Goodluck. Rumour had it that he was th'wealthiest man on the'Spanish Main but when he died, no-one ever found his riches."

"What are you thinking?" she asked, not quite liking the glint in Jack's eyes. "It's a piece of paper with some numbers on it, and a name which may or may not be Goodluck on the inner page, so?"

"So, young Miss Hammond, these numbers could be bearings…" he grinned, throwing the covers back and easing himself from the bunk.

"Where are you going?" Celia cried, stopping him by placing her hands on his chest and instantly regretting it as he looked at her and arched an eyebrow, sending a jolt of yearning through her, and she snatched her hands away again. "You're in no fit state to be getting up," she chided but her words held no conviction as she battled to keep her voice and nerves steady.

"You'd be surprised what I'm in a fit state ter do," Jack chuckled salaciously as he passed her and walked to the main cabin, albeit gingerly. "Can you give me a hand with this trunk?"

"What? Oh, yes," she replied, shaking herself from her reverie and hurrying over to where the pirate captain was standing. She took the proffered key and opened the lock then hauled the lid up and peeled back the waterproof covering, revealing rolls and rolls of charts.

"Let's see…" Jack mused as he squatted down, glancing at the paper from time to time as he tried to work out what the bearings could be, if indeed that was what they were. "This one," he finally declared, pulling out one of the charts and handing it to Celia and then eased himself back to his feet one handed, his wounded shoulder still strapped heavily. "Could yer spread it on th'table and anchor it down?"

Celia did as he bade and used an empty rum bottle, an unlit lantern and the bowl of apples which seemed to always be in the middle of the table to weigh down the chart. "How on earth do you know how to read this?"

"I told you, I was a cartographer," Jack reminded her as he studied the chart, checking the numbers now and then.

"So did you draw this?" she enquired, amazed at the detail on it.

"Aye," he smiled proudly. "It always does ter have copies an' keep th'originals somewhere safe."

"Where is somewhere safe?"

"Isla de Muerta. Saint Georges…"

"Why do you keep them in two places?" Celia puzzled, looking at him with a frown.

"No… these bearings… they could be Saint Georges… I wish I knew where be sailed from." Jack straightened up, self-indulgent smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes. "I feel a trip south comin' on."

"_Jack_! It's just a scrap of paper and a name!" Celia protested. "It doesn't mean a thing."

"It _might_. I have ter find out if it does."

"You're worse than a cat," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood, reaching out to steady him. "And you know what happens to them."

"Young lady, I am, as you can see, most definitely _not_ a cat. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

"You're not invincible," she remarked, looking pointedly at his wounded shoulder.

"Aye, well…" Jack evaded, frowning at her. "I haven't even thanked you fer savin' my life."

"What else was I going to do?" Celia enquired. "Certainly not leave you to be killed by whoever that man was. You could…" she hesitated, looking at him beneath lowered lashes. "You could always halve my debt as a show of gratitude…"

"_Halve_ it?" Jack echoed, looking aghast. "I don't know about that..."

"Surely it's the least you could do," Celia urged, pouting slightly as she had seen Giselle and Aggie do when they wanted their own way with a man.

Jack frowned, aware that he was being outmanoeuvred but unable to find a way out of the corner he had found himself backed into. "All right," he sighed eventually. "I'll halve yer debt."

"Thank you," Celia beamed, just catching herself before she leaped forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Now go an' fetch Gibbs for me," Jack muttered, still a bit miffed at being outsmarted by a young woman. "He might know something more about Goodluck."

"This is ridiculous," Celia sighed with exasperation, but still feeling elated at now only having six months or so to work. She walked across the main cabin to the doors. "It's nothing…"

"I've got my finest riches from what seemed like _nothin'_," Jack called after her. "You ask Gibbs or any of th'crew about my intuition."

"What's he on about?" Oliver Fernan enquired as Celia stepped out on to the main deck.

"You have sharp ears!" she chuckled. "I have no idea. I found a scrap of paper in my bible with some numbers on it and a barely readable name on the first page and suddenly Jac… the Captain is all for sailing south, to… Saint Georges, I think he said."

So, is there anythin' else on this bit of paper of yers? An' what is th'name in th'front?"

"No, nothing else is written on the paper and the name might be Goodluck, which apparently was the name of some privateer or other. Which is why all this fuss that the Captain is making seems a bit silly."

"Nothin' Jack Sparrow does is silly," he chuckled. "Although yer may question his sanity from time ter time."

"Only from time to time?" Celia remarked, arching her eyebrow in jest. "Mister Gibbs," she called as she spotted the quartermaster. "The Captain would like to see you in his cabin."

"What for?" Joshamee asked as he made his way over to the young girl and her companion.

"You'll see…" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You'll see."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," the older man frowned. "It sounds like trouble."

"Mister Gibbs, have yer learned nothin'?" Elliot called from the rigging. "This is th'_Black Pearl_, captained by none other than Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"

"Aye," Joshamee sighed. "That's what worries me!"

"There you are," Jack exclaimed as Celia returned to the cabin with Joshamee following behind. "I thought yer'd got lost."

"No, I was talking to Oliver."

"Oh. You seem ter talk to him a lot…"

"He's nice, so why shouldn't I?"

Jack frowned as he was stumped for an answer and instead turned his attention to his quartermaster. "Gibbs. We're makin' sail fer Grenada, Saint Georges, ter be precise."

"What? Why?"

"What do yer know about Geoffrey Goodluck?"

"Goodluck?" Joshamee echoed, looking in bewilderment at Celia, hoping for an answer. "Why Goodluck? Why Saint Georges?"

"Grab a bottle of rum, sit yourself down, an' me an' Celia'll tell yer all about it…"

…

"_Jack_!" Celia admonished as she saw him swinging his sword about with his left hand. "It's only been a couple of weeks. You'll rip the skin open again if you're not careful."

"Good job I _am_ careful then, eh?" he winked as he swapped the sword to his right hand and swished it through the air, showing off.

"I give up," she sighed, flopping down onto the stern seat and closing her eyes with exhaustion. She had been up since dawn, scrubbing, sewing and polishing, and now the sun was sinking towards the horizon.

"They workin' yer too hard?" Jack frowned as he noticed her pale face and dark rings beneath her eyes.

"It's what I'm here for, isn't it?" she snapped, opening her eyes and glaring at the pirate. "_And_ I have another six months or so of it."

"Yer don't have to," Jack stated, approaching her. "You know how ter halve yer debt, if yer wanted…"

"Oh, I'm sure I could!" Celia retorted. "Open my legs to you then get dropped off heaven only knows where."

"You know I wouldn't do that," he reasoned. "I'd see yer safely back in Tortuga."

"That's all I am to you, isn't it?" she cried, jumping to her feet and pushing past him so he could not see the tears that welled in her eyes.

"No!" Jack protested, staring after with with his mouth gaping open. "You wouldn't want ter stay on board, would you?"

"Damn right, I wouldn't!" came her muffled voice from inside the private head where she stood leaning against the bulkhead, fists clenched and eyes screwed shut in an attempt to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. '_I do not feel anything for him_,' she told herself crossly. '_He means nothing, **nothing**_!' But Celia knew that she was lying to herself, having seen another side to the pirate captain during the past couple of weeks that he had been convalescing. A gentler, more refined side that was totally at odds with the life he led, and she found herself becoming more and more drawn to him.

"Celia…" came Jack's voice from just outside the drapes to the small side cabin. "I'm sorry, luv. I didn't mean ter upset you, eh?"

"It's all right," she lied. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"I'll have a word with Gibbs," he stated, his voice sounding cross. "He's workin' yer too hard."

"_No_!" Celia cried, alarmed that he would find out that she had been volunteering for extra duties for the past couple of days, just to avoid being alone with him for too long a time. "Really, I'm fine."

"Come here an' look me in th'eyes an' say that…"

"I-I… I'm washing myself."

"There's no water in th'pitcher…"

"Oh. So there isn't," she replied lightly, forcing a laugh. "That'll teach me to look before I undress."

"What's up, Celia? You haven't seemed yer usual self th'last few days."

"N-nothing," she assured him, wincing as her voice sounded brittle and shrill. She cleared her throat before speaking again, in what she hoped was a more normal tone. "Maybe I have been working too hard. I just want to be accepted by the crew, that's all."

"You already _are_ accepted by th'crew," he told her. "They'd do anythin' fer you. Now, fer the next couple of days yer takin' it easy, savvy? You can work in th'cabin, an' if Gibbs has a problem with that, he can come an' see me himself."

Celia groaned to herself, covering her face with her hands. '_You've done it now_,' she admonished. '_You have no choice but to be with him_.'

"Celia?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes – that's fine," she replied, the shrillness returning to her voice. '_Damn, damn, damn_! _Stop swearing_! _Oh, curse you, Jack Sparrow_!'

"So are you comin' out fer supper?"

"Yes, I'll just get dressed again."

"All right," Jack smiled, enjoying the mental image of Celia naked mere inches from him, not realising that she was still fully clothed. "We'll soon have you right again, eh?"

'_I doubt that_,' she thought ruefully. "When will we arrive in Saint Georges?"

"A couple of days I reckon. Depends on th'winds an' currents."

"What are currents?" Celia asked, wanting to steer him onto a subject she knew he would sprout on about for hours, given the chance.

"It's where deep water moves in a different direction ter that on th'surface," Jack informed her, stroking his chin at her change of tack. '_Now what's botherin' her, I wonder_…?'

"So, how do you manage to sail if the sea is going different ways?"

"I'm feelin' a little tired," he apologised. "I'll tell you all about it another time. Come on, I can smell supper."

"I'm ready," Celia announced as she stepped from behind the drape covering the doorway of the head.

"I think we'll take it in here tonight. Go an'tell Toby, there's a good girl." Jack suppressed a smirk at the look of alarm on her face then oggled her behind as she walked across the cabin. "Are those breeches shrinkin'?" he asked as she pulled open the door. "They seem tighter than usual…"

"_What_! Oh, n-no… I don't think so…" Celia fled out on to the main deck, her face burning with mortification, leaving Jack chuckling quietly to himself.

"Well, Miss Hammond," he mused out loud. "Have you decided I'm not an ugly, heartless bastard after all?" He sat down in his chair at the table, his eyes on the cabin doors. "It's lucky fer you that my shoulder's still giving me trouble, or you'd be payin' off yer debt sooner than you anticipated…" Jack smiled to himself and tipped his hat over his eyes, keeping a sharp listen out for when the young girl returned. He was going to have some fun with her – he was determined of that.

"Celia!" Oliver Fernan hurried along the dark corridor, soon catching her up as she made her way to the galley.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Oliver, I was in a world of my own then," she apologised, grateful that he could not see her still burning cheeks.

"That's all right," he grinned. "I guess I ought ter make a little more noise, so I don't scare yer half ter death."

"And I ought to stop going off in a trance," she smiled ruefully. "Then I wouldn't _be_ scared half to death."

"Where're yer goin'?" the Irishman enquired. "It's not quite supper time yet."

"I know," she sighed. "Tha captain wants his food in the cabin, I'm just going to inform Toby."

"Ah, an' yer goin' ter eat with us, eh?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I will be dining in the cabin as well," she shrugged. "I'd better go and see Toby, or he'll be setting the places in the mess soon."

"Perhaps th'cap'n'd like a nice wine with supper? You an' me could go down th'hold and fetch one, eh?"

"Oh… umm… I'm n-not sure…"

"Ah, what harm would it do? Yer look like yer could do with a little relaxation."

"It is a sin to get drunk," Celia reminded him. "Especially for pleasure."

"An' what other reason is there fer gettin' drunk?" he teased. "B'sides, th'priests back in Ireland were always gettin' drunk at th'drop of a hat. It never seemed ter bother them whether it was sinful or not. Ah, Toby!" Oliver called as he spotted the burly cook coming from a side cabin near the galley, a basket of eggs in his hand. "Th'cap'n an' Celia will be takin' supper in th'main cabin. We're just goin' down ter th'hold ter find a bottle of wine."

"He could have told me earlier," Tobias Pellew grumbled but without malice. "I'll send Elliot with it when it's ready, all right?"

"F-fine," Celia smiled nervously. "The captain will wonder where I am," she said to her companion as they went on their way along the corridor to a flight of steps. "He might be angry…"

"Th'cap'n? Angry? It's a rare thing ter see him angry with anyone, especially over somethin' so trivial. B'sides, this won't take long."

The travelled down the ship to the hold in companionable silence until Oliver stopped by a door and took a key from his belt, holding it up in the lamplight. "This is where th'special goods are kept. Only me , th'cap'n, Mister Gibbs and Gabriel hold a key ter this door."

"I-I s-see," Celia stammered, her heart pounding wildly at being this far in the bowels of the large ship. "C-can we h-hurry, please?"

"Ah, there's nothin' ter be scared of," he laughed. "I'll save yer from th'rats, never fear!"

"R-rats… oh, my goodness…"

"There'd better not be any rats in here or th'cap'n'll string me up by th'yardarm," Oliver joked as he turned the key in the lock, handing the lantern to Celia as he shoved open the thick, oak door and beckoned her inside, closing it again once she was inside.

Celia's eyes grew wide as she looked around the store cabin, filled with chests, trunks and crates containing bottles of all shapes and sizes. "What is in all these?" she enquired in awe. "And what will you do with them all?"

"A bit of everythin'. Clothes, jewels, wines an' port, silks – anythin' that is too fine ter be stored with th'rest of what we purloin."

"I wish you wouldn't use words such as that," she sighed. "I can almost forget what it is you do at times."

"Needs must," he shrugged. "It's this or starve. Or be slaves…"

"Surely there's a legal occupation you could do?"

"Heh! Aye, if I an' countless others can avoid th'authorities fer th'rest of our lives. It doesn't matter how small yer misdemeanour, they hold it against yer forever."

"But that is so unfair!" Celia declared. "Surely they can see that some people don't have enough to live on?"

"Aye, of course they can, but they don't care. So long as they have food on their tables an' a fine house ter live in, th'rest of us can starve. Now come on, this isn't what we came down fer."

"No," she replied, forcing a smile. "Why did Ja… Captain Sparrow become a pirate?"

"Yer'd best ask him," Oliver replied. "Because none of us know, 'cept maybe Mister Gibbs."

"I've tried. He won't tell me."

"Ah!" he laughed. "We've even tried gettin' th'cap'n blind drunk an' he _still _won't say."

"I'm starting to think that you can't _get _Jack Sparrow drunk," she observed. "He always seems…"

"Drunk when he's sober an' sober when he's drunk," Oliver quipped, winking broadly at her. "Here, this should do." He held up a bottle of Italian wine, letting the light from the torch shine through the glass bottle.

"Come on then," Celia urged, wanting to get away from the deep recesses of the _Black Pearl_, but not wanting to hurry back to the cabin. She had a horrible feeling that Jack had guessed how she felt about him.

"Aye. I told yer it wouldn't take long." Oliver reached out to open the door as Celia stepped forward to do the same thing and his hand closed over hers on the knob. "Ah, Celia," he muttered, turning her around and into his arms, pressing his lips against hers and kissing her deeply.

"Oh! W-what on earth d-did you d-do that for?" Celia gasped as she pushed him away. "Oh, Lord, why did you do that?"

"I'm sorry, Celia, me darlin'. I just… yer must know that I like ya."

"You're married!" she exclaimed.

"An' yer th'cap'n's," he sighed. "I'm prepared ter wait until…"

"Until he's had me and I'm no longer a virgin?" she snapped, her voice betraying the hurt she felt inside. "But surely I won't be half as desirable then, hmm?"

"No longer a virgin?" Oliver echoed, frowning at her in the dim light. "Yer mean…?"

"He hasn't _picked my cherry_? No – he hasn't! Oh, let me guess, I'm suddenly even _more_ desirable…"

"I-I…" the Irishman stammered, running his hand through his thick, wavy hair in confusion. "I don't want yer fer that, surely yer must know. I thought th'cap'n had already…"

"No," Celia sighed, closing her eyes as turmoil raced through her head.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. Please forgive me."

"Oh, Oliver… I'd like to go back up now, _please_."

"Of course," the Irishman sighed, pulling the door open and leading the way along the corridor with a small degree of difficulty as Celia had the torch and she was behind him.

"I do forgive you," came her voice in the near darkness. "It's just…"

"I know. Forget it ever happened, eh?" he replied curtly.

'_I don't believe this_,' Celia lamented as she concentrated on picking her way along the narrow corridor. '_First I think I'm starting to fall in love with Jack, and now Oliver goes and kisses me_…' She yelped and put out a hand to steady herself as she stumbled over something, giving a small shriek as a pair of beady eyes gleamed back up at her.

"Bloody vermin!" Oliver spat, aiming a hefty kick at the rat which went scurrying away, squeaking as it went.

"T-thank you. Oliver, I'm sorry…"

"It's me who's sorry. I shouldn't have done that, especially with th'cap'n's woman. He really _will_ hang me from th'yardarm now."

"I'm not going to tell him!" she gasped, horrified at the thought. "He wouldn't, would he?"

"I don't know," Oliver shrugged. "I don't think I'd want ter risk findin' out, either." He turned to face the young woman once more, cupping her face in his hand. "Do yer want him?"

"I-I d-don't know," Celia whispered, trying to damp down the urge to kiss him again. "B-but whether I do or not, it would be wrong to… you're _married_," she fretted. "I will not become an adulteress as well as a fallen woman."

"If yer give yourself ter him, you'll be fallen – what's th'difference?" he urged, leaning to kiss her and frowning as she backed away.

"No! There's only so far a woman can fall and I'm already going down. I-I like you, Oliver, but I'm not prepared to be an even bigger sinner by giving myself to you, not that I'll be giving myself to Jack," she stated, ignoring the questioning voice inside her head.

"Bugger!" the Irishman cursed quietly as voices approached them and he moved quickly away from the young woman, wishing he could have more time to try and persuade her to change her mind.

"Who's that, then?" Noah Trinity called from along the dark corridor.

"Mouse an' Miss Celia," Oliver replied. "Just fetchin' th'cap'n a bottle of wine from th'store."

"Well yer'd best hurry," Jacob Sumner put in. "Toby's dishin' up soon."

"Aye." Oliver took the torch from Celia and handed her the bottle before leading the way once more, nodding at his crewmates as they passed them.

'_Stupid, stupid, stupid_,' Celia reprimanded herself, keeping her eyes downcast, not daring to look the other men in the eyes lest they discover what she and the Irishman had been doing merely by looking at her. '_How on earth did I manage to get myself into that position_? _I can barely cope with Jack's advances, let alone a married man's,_' she fretted as she and Oliver made their way up through the ship in silence.

…


	17. Chapter 17

Can't I even have him for St. Valentine's Day? Waaah!

Hmm, not too many reviews pouts Remember, ladies, reviews are like sex with Jack – you can never have too much! ;)

Thanks, as always, to Kat for editing (and boy did she have some to do this time!) and Hilary for being a sounding board. Don't forget to check Hils' story (aided and abetted by me) on affnet, entitled Two Gentlemen of Tortuga.

…

**Chapter Seventeen**

"There you are!" Joshamee called as Celia and Oliver appeared from a hatch. "Th'captain's goin' mad, wonderin' where you've got to."

"W-we just w-went and fetch t-this," Celia stammered, holding up the bottle of wine which they had fetched. "I-I'm s-sorry…"

"Go on your way," the quartermaster urged, shooing her with his hands. "The food's already been taken in."

"A-all right," Celia nodded. "T-thank you, Oliver."

"It's a pleasure," he smiled, looking deep in her eyes as she moved past him and hurried along the corridor and up the hatch.

Celia hesitated when she reached the main cabin doors, trying to compose herself before facing Jack. She timidly pushed them open and walked in, gulping as Jack turned to face her.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, looking at her accusingly.

"Umm… Oliver thought you might like some wine with your meal, so w-we went to the s-store for s-some."

"He did, did he?" Jack mused, frowning at her, then softening his features as he saw what looked like fear in her eyes and felt a pang of guilt for his anger. "All right, I'm sorry I snapped. Did he open it fer you?"

"N-no… why?"

"I can't quite manage that yet," Jack chuckled, indicating his shoulder. "Unless you'd like me ter smash th'bottle?"

"Oh, I never thought… I shall go and ask someone to uncork it…"

"Nah, leave it. No doubt Elliot'll be in just now, he can do it. Come an' sit yourself down." Jack pulled out a chair for her and beckoned her over. "Don't want th'food ter get cold, eh?"

"Don't you want me to change?"

"Th'food really would be cold then," he chuckled. "Yer look fine as you are, tight breeches an' all…"

"They are not tight!" Celia objected before pulling a rueful face. "All right, maybe a _little_… I don't look indecent, do I?" she fretted.

"I'll find you some more ter wear," he grinned wolfishly. "Perhaps just save those fer when you clean th'cabin, eh?"

"Jack Sparrow!" Celia admonished sternly, turning and glaring at him and instantly regretting it as his dark eyes bored into her. "Behave yourself," she scolded limply, the sting taken from her words by the effect he was having on her.

"I'm always good," he growled huskily in her ear, his smile broadening as he felt her shiver. "As you will find out some day."

"I have told you, it will be a cold day in hell first," she retorted without much certainty.

"You're still not convincing me," Jack teased, brushing his lips against her ear and being rewarded with a more violent shudder. "In fact, I reckon if it wasn't fer th'convent instillin' all sorts of rubbish in your head, I reckon you'd be mine by now, hmm?"

"N-no…" Celia insisted. "T-that's n-not true."

"Prove it. Kiss me an' I'll be able ter tell if you really want me or not."

"No!" Celia cried, her heart racing. "I-I can't d-do that!" '_Oh, Lord, what sort of hussy am I becoming_?' she worried, biting her lip as she tried to avoid Jack's eyes.

"Why, you afraid of betrayin' yourself?" Jack teased, his finger tracing a line along her jaw until it reached her chin which he lifted so she had no choice but to look at him. "Eh?"

Celia gulped a couple of times, wishing she was strong enough to drag her gaze from his, but instead found herself sinking into his deep pools. "I-I…" She gasped as she found herself being pulled to her feet. "I can't," she whispered. "I-it's wrong…"

"Nothin' wrong with a kiss between friends, an' that _is_ what we are at th'moment, isn't it, Miss Hammond? Just friends…" Jack purred, drawing her closer, his eyes still holding hers, glinting with a mixture of amusement and desire. He ran his tongue over his lips, smirking as Celia moaned beneath her breath. "Prove you don't want me…"

"M-my word should be enough," she replied, cursing her knees for going weak and her blood for racing through her body. "I-I shouldn't have to prove anything to you."

"Ah, therein lies a problem, you see," he mused, the corners of his mouth twitching with merriment. "I never trust a word anyone says ter me. I like ter have solid proof."

'_I can't_!' she panicked. '_I can't kiss Oliver and then Jack_… _he might give you some peace if you do kiss him – it is only a kiss, after all…_' "All right," Celia sighed with resignation. "I'll kiss you."

"A proper kiss," he warned, wagging a finger at her. "Not a chaste peck, savvy?"

"A proper kiss," Celia promised. "And then can we eat?"

Jack merely smirked at her as he pulled her in closer still until their lips were mere inches apart and he could feel her shallow breath. "You've got ter kiss me, remember."

Celia gulped and shut her eyes before closing the minute distance between them and sighing into his mouth as his soft lips met hers. Without thinking, her arms automatically wound around him, anchoring him to her as Jack's tongue sought entrance to her mouth, which she gave willingly.

'_Sweet Jesus_,' Jack swore as he savoured the feel of her body pressing against his and the taste of her mouth. '_Don't know how much longer my patience can hold out_…' He cupped the back of her head in his hand, kissing her more forcibly and pressed himself against her, rubbing his other hand down her back until he reached the waist of her breeches. '_Stop_!' he warned himself, knowing he was about to go too far, and reluctantly broke away from the young woman with a heavy sigh.

Celia shivered and gasped at the loss of contact and stared wildly at him, knowing that she had indeed betrayed her innermost feelings. She pulled away and went to run to the side cabin, crying out as he caught her wrist and stopped her in her tracks. "L-let me go!" she wailed, trying unsuccessfully to free her hand. "_Please_."

"I'm not goin' ter force you, luv," Jack told her gently. "In fact, nothin' has changed, savvy?"

"Of course it has! _Everything_ has changed," she cried. "If I let you have your way with me, will you let me go in Saint Georges?"

"No." Jack shook his head. "I want you ter give yourself to me willingly, not as a means to an end. Besides you'd still have another three months of yer debt left to repay, even if you _did_ sleep with me tonight."

"Three months?" Celia echoed, looking at him incredulously. "_Three_ months! You promised that if I slept with you, you would halve my debt and being as you have already halved it, that means I would be free to go, would it not?"

"Ah, no, as a matter of fact…" he mused, pressing a finger against his lips and cocking his head to one side. "You saved my life – I halved yer debt, makin' it six months that yer had to pay back. Now half of _that_ is three months," he reasoned with a smile. "I'm good at my sums, if nothin' else…"

"Y-you…" Celia spluttered. "You… _bastard_!" she shrieked, her hand going to the table and feeling a pewter tankard which she picked up and hurled at him. "I _hate_ you!"

"Celia, luv…" Jack reasoned, raising his hands in surrender. "There's no need fer this… whoa!" he ducked quickly as the small pot full of stew came the same way as the tankard, missing his head by inches and smashed into the bulkhead, leaving a dent in the wood. "Mind my ship!"

"I don't give a damn about your bloody ship," Celia swore, picking up the plates and flinging them at him. "You tricked me!"

"Did not!" he protested. "Half of six is three, as you should know, being educated an' all… should have slept with me when yer term was still a year – you'd have been worth six months then which would have been halved ter three months which would have been halved ter six weeks…" he told her as he ducked and weaved the various objects from the table which were still heading his way.

"Don't get smart with me!" she snarled, looking for something else to throw at him.

"I'm not," he shrugged, taking the opportunity to straighten up before diving to the deck as she picked up a chair and chucked it towards him. "Just tellin' it as it is."

"Is everythin' all right, Cap'n…?" Elliot Deane enquired as he hovered by the doors, not wanting to enter the cabin, but wanting to find out what was going on, as did all of his crewmates gathered around the main deck.

"Get out!" both Jack and Celia shouted, sending the hapless lad scurrying back out.

"Yer coward!" Thomas Frazer taunted as the crew milled forward to hear the argument still raging in the cabin.

"Well, _Captain_ Sparrow," Celia mocked sarcastically. "You do not know your numbers as well as you think. _If_ I had given myself to you when the terms were still at a year and you had halved the debt after _I_ saved your life, I would still have three months left to serve, so I wouldn't be any better off, would I?" she sniped, flinging plate after plate at him and smiled evilly as he all but bent over backwards to dodge them. "Unless you plan on halving the debt each time I sleep with you, in which case let's start now."

"You've got me there," Jack admitted with a rueful smile as he fended off a stray bowl with his good arm. "You were well taught."

"My mother insisted on it. She said it befitted a lady to know her letters and numbers."

"Clever woman," he commented. "Will you be makin' that offer when yer in better humour?"

"What offer? To lay in your bunk? Will you halve the debt each time I do?" she enquired acerbically.

"No," Jack admitted. "It'll still be three months, an' I wouldn't put you down anywhere but Tortuga. At least you know th'place an' have friends there."

"Then, no. I will not be making the offer again – _ever_!"

"Never say never," Jack quipped, moving around the table, wishing that his shoulder did not hurt so much and he could tackle her to the deck. He was not sure how much more damage his cabin could take. "Besides… you _do _like me…"

"I hate your filthy, lying, weasly guts!"

"There's a fine line between love an' hate…"

"_Love_?" Celia shrieked, her mouth agape. "I do not love you," she snorted. "I will _never_ love you..." She did not have time to react as Jack flew around the table and grabbed her, pressing his lips fiercely against hers.

'_You must be mad_,' he thought wryly to himself, pinning her arms to her side even though it pained his bad shoulder to do so. '_Or not, as th'case may be_…'

"Mmpfh! Let me go," Celia hissed, trying to wriggle from his grasp. "Let me…" her words were cut off again by his lips and this time she found herself giving in to the desire sweeping her body once more as she returned the kiss. "I will _never_ love you," she murmured as he broke away.

"I wasn't suggestin' that you do, or will," Jack soothed, holding his hands up placatingly as he backed away. "Just makin' an observation… an' here's another one. You've got one hell of a mess ter clear up before bedtime."

"Y-you expect _me_ to clear this up?" she spluttered.

"It's yer duty, isn't it? An' besides, _you_ made th'mess… With hindsight, it's a good job yer didn't change fer supper - it would've been a shame ter ruin a good dress."

"You… you…"

"Lovable, incorrigible rogue?" Jack suggested with an impish grin.

"Not quite the words I was thinking of, no," Celia sniped, her anger starting to deflate and her shoulders sagging as she looked around the cabin in despair at the mess.

"I'll go down th'galley, see if Toby's got some more food left fer me," Jack told her. "I'll send some hardtack fer you later, eh?"

"Oh… all right," she replied, rubbing her growling stomach as she watched Jack leave the cabin. Celia sank to the cabin deck as soon as the door shut and closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands as she struggled to contain the emotions welling up inside her. "Damn you," she sighed, licking her lips and tasting him on them. "Why do you do this to me…?"

"Cor! Yer escaped with yer life then, Cap'n!" Elliot exclaimed as Jack strode across the deck. "I thought she was goin' ter tear th'cabin apart."

"It sounded worse than it was," Jack lied. "Now get back ter work, yer scabrous dogs before I make you go in there an' help her clean up…" he barked, disappearing down the hatch which lead to the galley.

…

Celia brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and looked around the cabin, pleased with the progress she was making. '_I haven't lost my temper like that since…_' she frowned, struggling to remember. '_Since I was a child_,' she realised with shock. '_What am I going to do about him and Oliver_?'

"Here you go," came Jack's voice, breaking her reverie. "Luckily Toby had made extra tonight but it's only th'dregs." He placed a tray on the table and the smell of stew wafted across the cabin, making Celia's stomach growl once more. "Come on, before it gets cold – again."

"Thank you," she replied shyly, not daring to look at him as she moved to the table. "I'm sorry…"

"Apology accepted," Jack grinned, sitting in his chair and propping his feet on the table as he pulled the stopper from a bottle of rum, watching her all the time. "Yer've done well cleanin' up," he observed.

"I bet the crew are all talking about it, aren't they?" Celia lamented as she wolfed down the thick, overcooked broth.

"Aye," he laughed. "Although they tend ter go a little quiet when I pass by…"

"Oh, no," she groaned, closing her eyes. "I'll never live it down."

"Nope," Jack agreed, still grinning. "At least not until th'next big argument between someone – unless that someone is th'pair of us again."

"I hope not," Celia fretted as she reached for some hardtack to mop up the remnants of the stew from the bowl.

"I dunno," he mused, stroking his braids. "I enjoy a good argument – especially th'makin' up afterwards…"

Celia glanced at him and then back down again as his devilish grin sent a shiver down her spine. "W-what do you expect of me?" she asked, her eyes fixed on a weevil going around in circles on the table.

"Same as I've always expected of you," he informed her. "An' I want th'same as I've always wanted… but only if you want th'same."

"And if I don't?" she whispered, gulping hard.

"Then you work your six months an' leave me broken hearted," he quipped.

"I see… I had better finish off clearing up – I'll never get some sleep otherwise." Celia stood, gathering the bowls and plates together and loading them on to the tray which Jack had brought up from the galley. "I'll take these down later, if that's all right?" she asked quietly.

"Fine by me," Jack replied, still watching her thoughtfully as he drunk from the bottle. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"W-what?"

"Is it just th'thought of makin' love that worries you?"

"It's sinful!" Celia exclaimed, righting the chair which she had thrown, relieved to see there was no damage to it. "Only a husband and wife can… you know."

"Accordin' to th'church," he reasoned. "What did people do before there were churches an' th'like – before there were priests an' clergymen ter tell them it was sinful?"

"But… there have _always_ been churches and priests," she argued, finally looking him square in the eyes. "So it's always been sinful."

"Were you never tempted with Robert?"

"_What_?" Celia exploded. "What sort of question is that?"

"A reasonable one. You were engaged ter be married, so were you ever tempted or perhaps go further than so called propriety allowed?"

"It is none of your business," she snapped, turning away from him.

"So I'll take as a yes then, eh?"

"No!" she shouted, turning back to him. "He wanted to but I refused, so he left me! There, curiosity satisfied?" she cried, fleeing to the side cabin.

"Bugger!" Jack cursed, jumping to his feet and dashing across to the cabin. "Celia, I'm sorry…" He pulled a face as he heard sobs coming from within the private head and he pulled the drape back, frowning as she saw her on the floor with her face buried in her hands, sobbing. "Hey…" he soothed, squatting down and placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry – me an' my big mouth, eh?"

"Leave me alone," she gasped between sobs, shrugging her shoulder in an effort to move his hand.

"I'm not leavin' you in this state. Come on, luv," he crooned, kneeling on the cabin deck and winding his arms around her, holding her close as she cried into his chest. "I never thought…"

"You never do!"

"Guilty as charged," Jack sighed, cursing himself silently. "It seems a bit of an over-reaction, if you ask me," he mused when her sobs subsided. "He only had, what, a month ter wait?"

"H-he said that if I really l-loved him, I-I would have…" she hiccupped.

"Th'bastard," Jack muttered, stroking her shoulder length hair. "If he had really loved you, he wouldn't have tried ter blackmail you."

"I know," Celia sighed, a final sob shuddering through her body. "It doesn't lessen the pain though."

"No," Jack agreed, nuzzling the top of her head. "I loved someone once," he mused. "She was married though, an' her husband found out…"

"What happened?"

"He was a local squire with many connections. I had ter leave or he threatened ter ruin my father's shippin' company."

"Shipping company?" Celia echoed, pulling away and looking at him. "I was right about you being a gentleman then?"

"Aye," Jack chuckled quietly. "Yer too damned perceptive fer your own good, young lady…"

"So why did you turn pirate? Couldn't you have found work as a cartographer?"

"Survival," he shrugged. "Like most others who turn pirate. I was in Weymouth, lookin' fer honest work but happened ter be in th'wrong place at th'wrong time - a smuggler crew came in lookin' fer men, so I volunteered rather than be pressed. Stayed with them fer a few years, workin' my way up ter first mate, an then th'captain brought another ship an' made me her captain. But th'authorities were already onto us an' were lyin' in wait one night when both ships returned ter Weymouth. I managed ter escape by th'skin of my teeth, but Josiah got captured an' hanged from what I later heard. It was too dangerous ter remain in Weymouth, or even England, come ter that, so we sailed ter Dublin, picked up supplies an' then headed out here."

"Have you always gone for unattainable women?" Celia remarked, shifting in his arms to a more comfortable position.

"Aye," Jack sighed ruefully. "I suppose I have… come on, let's get up before we can't get up." He stood and held out his hand to help Celia to her feet then led the way back into the main cabin and to the stern seats, automatically wrapping his good arm around her and pulling her to him, smiling as she nestled against him once more.

"So how did you get to be a pirate?"

"Natural progression from smuggler," he reflected. "I soon found I made a good pirate an' once I acquired th'_Pearl_, I became one of th'best."

"And most modest…" Celia sniped teasingly, starting to recover from her earlier woe. "So who was this Barbossa?" she asked.

"Bloody hell," Jack laughed. "Yer certainly makin' th'most of this."

"You're the one who says you have to take the opportune moment," she smiled, enjoying the feel of his laughter as it vibrated through her body.

"It's long story – you sure yer up to it?"

"I am if you are…"

"All right," he sighed, settling himself back. "You asked fer it…"

…

"Celia…? You awake, luv?" Jack smiled as the only answer he got was a gentle snore and shifted carefully on the seat until he was able to lie her down on it. "You can't stay there th'night," he mused, padding over to the cabin door and calling for a crewman.

"Yer called, Cap'n?" Oliver enquired as he stepped into the cabin.

"Pick Celia up an' carry her to my bunk," Jack ordered, shrugging his waistcoat off and untying his sash, grateful that he had taken his boots off earlier that evening as his arm was hurting from having the young woman's weight pressing against it for so long.

"Aye, Cap'n," Oliver replied in a surly enough tone to make Jack look at him and frown. He bent down and picked her up, desperately wishing he did not have to do this. '_She said he hadn't had her_,' a voice reminded him. '_But it looks as though he will now_… _don't be daft – she's asleep_!' Oliver gently placed her on top of the bunk and turned on his heel, avoiding Jack's eyes as he made his way out. "'Night, Cap'n," he called, almost as an afterthought.

"Goodnight," Jack murmured thoughtfully as he hoisted himself up onto the bunk, gently shoving Celia over to make room for him. "How am I goin' ter break you down?" he wondered, stroking her hair and sighing as she snuggled against him. "Guess I can't complain… I _am_ making progress," he smiled as he slid his arm beneath her and held her close before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

…

Celia prised open one eye and then the other and looked in the bright morning light at the sleeping form of the pirate captain squashed next to her, half smiling to herself as she mused how guiless he looked. '_Guiless, my foot_,' she thought wryly, kissing the tip of his nose quite without thinking. '_Devil in disguise more like_…' She smiled as she thought of how he had opened up to her the previous night, telling her about himself but the smile turned to a frown as she remembered her encounter with Oliver in the corridor of the hold. '_Oh, what am I going to do_?' she thought, sighing with uncertainty. '_I can't exactly avoid Oliver, can I_? _Maybe I should tell Jack_… _no_, _he might punish Oliver – or worse_! _Don't be silly, Jack isn't like that… oh, why can't my life be simple_?' She turned over on to her back and stared up at the ceiling of the cabin, searching for an answer to her predicament in the gnarled and knotted wood. Celia started as Jack threw an arm over her midriff and snuggled up to her, sighing blissfully in his sleep. "Whoever said that those with a clear conscience sleeps the better, obviously never met you," she murmured beneath her breath as she rested her head against his and dozed for a time until she became aware of someone hovering over her and opened her eyes once more, arching an eyebrow as she looked at Jack, grinning down at her.

"Mornin', luv. Sleep well?"

"Very, thank you," Celia replied, pushing away a strand of his hair which was tickling her nose. "Did you?"

"Like a babe," he chuckled, lying back down beside her. "Y'know, when you _do_ give yourself ter me, I'll have ter get Orchard ter make a bigger bunk. Nice though being this close ter you is, I don't think it will be comfortable night after night, eh?"

"That's one less job for him, then," she retorted, trying to extract herself from his arm snaked around her waist.

"Ah, yer wound me," Jack grinned, running his free hand through his loose hair, his bandana having come off during the night. "One thing, luv. What I told yer last night stays within this cabin, savvy?"

"Why? What is so important about no-one knowing your former life?"

"I told you, I like ter keep an air of mystery about me," he evaded. "Obviously, th'crew know all about Barbossa – some of them were around at th'time."

"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?" Celia mused, turning on her side to look at him. "Something more about this woman you loved?"

"Like I said… mystery," Jack smiled enigmatically. "Now come on, young lady, I have a ship ter captain an' you have a cabin ter finish cleanin' up."

"Oh, don't remind me," she groaned, covering her face with her hands. "At least we provided the crew with their nightly entertainment," she chuckled wryly.

"Aye," Jack agreed with a laugh. "Keep 'em goin' all day, that will."

"I think I'll take my time with the cabin, so I don't have to face their jokes and ribbing."

"You will anyway, yer've been workin' too hard."

"Yes, Cap'n," Celia smiled, sitting up and waiting for him to move so she could get off the bunk. "Thank you for not throwing me in the brig."

"You'll have ter behave a lot worse than that before I do," Jack winked as he climbed down and ambled over to the private head.

Celia smiled to herself as she padded to the main cabin, but winced when she saw the state it was still in. She picked up the rest of the bowls and plates, stacking them onto the tray and sending thanks that nothing was damaged. She did not want to face Toby and explain why his utensils were damaged. '_Don't be silly,_' she thought. '_He already knows why_… _oh_… _I'm going to have to take these to the galley_.' Celia sighed to herself, jumping as Jack crept up behind her.

"You comin' fer breakfast?"

"I was hoping you'd be wanting it here," she replied with a rueful smile.

"Got ter face them sometime," he shrugged as he sat down and pulled on his boots, trying not to react as his shoulder protested at the movement.

"I suppose so," Celia sighed, picking the tray up and carrying it to the door, waiting for Jack to open it before taking a deep breath and stepping onto the main deck, squinting in the sunlight.

"Mornin' Cap'n, Miss Celia," Elliot called from the rigging. "Beautiful day, ain't it?"

"Very," Jack replied as he weaved and swayed across to the hatch and disappeared into the bowels of his ship, leaving Celia to struggle with the laden tray down the steep steps.

"Here," Oliver smiled, taking the tray from her hands and carrying it down with ease. "Are yer all right?"

"Thank you," she replied, forcing a smile as she followed him. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"I just thought… what happened last night… yer might not be feelin' so good."

"We had an argument, that is all," she shrugged, frowning at his over protection. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"I had ter put yer in his bunk, like," the Irishman admitted. "I thought…"

"I see," she snapped, snatching the tray back off him. "Well you have nothing to worry about on that subject, Mister Fernan! Not that it's any of your business!"

"Celia! No! That's not what I meant," he called as she stormed off along the dimly lit corridor. "Bugger!" he cursed, smashing his fist against the bulkhead and wincing as pain shot through his hand.

"Ya want ter watch yerself," Gabriel Jennings warned as he approached his friend. "Th'cap'n won't take too kindly t'yer makin' eyes at his woman."

"It's none of yer damned business!" Oliver shouted, pushing past the other man and stomping off in the opposite direction.

"H-here you a-are, Toby," Celia stammered as she careered into the galley, shaken by the encounter with Oliver. She had been hoping to avoid him and the realisation that he had been the one to put her in Jack's bunk made her heart sink.

"Could yer wash them fer me?" the burly cook enquired. "I'll save yer th'best of th'porridge _an_' some bacon, eh?"

"Bacon?" she echoed. "Yes please. What's the occasion?"

"Yer need feedin' up – I've seen more flesh on a swab," he teased. "B'sides… yer need ter build yer energy back up after last night's little performance!"

"I might have known," Celia groaned, rolling her eyes, a smile twitching the corners of her lips as she started washing the dirty bowls.

"An' if I fatten yer up, we might get even more shows like that," Toby laughed. "Perhaps I should sharpen th'knives…?"

"Very funny," Celia replied, still trying to suprress a grin. "Although I think it might be better if you sharpen the edges of the plates…"

"Now yer talkin'," the cook laughed, doling out the porridge into the bowls as Celia handed them to him. "Can yer take these in, there's a love?"

"All right," she sighed, her stomach churning at the thought of facing the rest of the crew. She knew the teasing she got from Tobias would pale into insignificance compared to what they would say to her and she hoped that Jack was already in the mess. Celia wiped her hands dry on her breeches and picked up a tray full of steaming bowls and carried it to the mess, hesitating for a brief moment before walking in, looking around briefly for the captain and not finding him.

"Woohoo! If it ain't our very own hellcat!" one of the men called out as the mess erupted in a volley of whistles and catcalls.

"Yer want me ter improve yer aim, sweetheart? I didn't see many bruises on th'cap'n?"

"They're well hidden," came her riposte and she bobbed a curtsy, drawing more laughter from the crew, figuring that if you couldn't beat them, you might as well join them.

"What's th'noise about?" Jack enquired, poking his head around the mess door.

"Nothin', Cap'n," Gabriel Jennings replied, the innocent look on his face belied by his impish grin. "Just th'usual fun an' laughter."

"Celia…?"

"Nothing, Captain," she shrugged with a smile. "Men will be men, boys will be boys…"

"Y'mean I have _men_ amongst my crew?" Jack asked teasingly. "Where?"

"I'm sure you could find one or two if you looked hard enough," Celia teased, poking her tongue out at Gabriel who was doing the same to her.

"Come on," Adam Butler grumbled. "Some of us are still waitin' fer our grub."

"Sorry," Celia apologised, picking up the tray once more and hurrying from the mess to the galley, giving Jack a brief smile as she passed him.

"Yo should leave her alone," Noah hissed, giving his crewmate a surly glance. "Yo're always on at her."

"If she don't like it, she can leave," Butler shrugged, making sure his captain could not hear what he was saying. "Don't see why she's on board anyway – apart from th'obvious."

"Th'cap'n has his reasons," Jacob Sumner put in. "Ours is not ter question him."

"Here we go," Celia smiled, a little too brightly, as she returned with another tray full. She placed it down on the trestle table and handed Jack his first and then walked over to give Butler his oats.

"Should have left him 'til last," Noah muttered under his breath. "He ain't worth special treatment."

"Shut it," Adam hissed. "Or I'll be seein' yer later."

"I'll be waitin'," the black man assured him, flashing Celia a smile as she handed him his bowl.

"That's enough, both of yer," Myles Burford warned, glancing at his captain who was watching them all carefully.

Celia carried on giving out the rest of the bowls, her eyes downcast, her earlier good humour having diminished with the obvious bad feeling between the men that she felt she had caused.

"You gettin' yours?" Jack enquired, taking his attention away from his crewmen for a moment to address the young woman.

"I-I'll have it in the galley," she whispered, dashing out of the door.

"Butler!" Jack barked, frowning angrily at him across the mess. "Just what exactly did yer say to her?"

"I didn't say nothin', Cap'n!" he protested, looking hurt. "Alls I did was chivvy her along fer th'rest of th'grub. Yer heard me yerself."

"So why is she like this then?"

"Well, what d'yer expect, Cap'n? She's a woman – they're all th'same. Nice one minute an' snappin' yer head off th'next."

"Hmm," Jack mused, making a mental note to question Celia after breakfast. He knew Butler had a reputation for being an awkward cuss at times, he did not want Celia to be a victim of the man's brusque temperament.

"That's all of them fed," Celia told Toby as she set the tray down, picking up her bowl which he was holding out to her. "Thank you," she smiled.

"Yer gettin' quite th'little carer, ain't yer?" the burly cook chuckled. "Matt told us how yer managed ter stitch his cut th'other day."

"Oh, grief, yes! I was terrified whilst I was doing it – thought I was going to sew his skin to his bones!"

"So, yer goin' ter be helpin' him, next time we do battle?"

"Y-yes," Celia shuddered, not wanting to think about the sheer terror of cannons pounding into the ship and splinters flying around like daggers seeking a victim. "Do you hit many ships?" she asked, praying the answer would be negative.

"As many as we come across," he told her, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "Sometimes we can go weeks without findin' a good target. Sometimes we can come across one or two in a week."

"My compliments ter th'cook," Jack drawled as he carried his bowl in to the galley. "One or two, what?"

"Ships. Miss Celia was askin' if we hit many ships."

"Ah," Jack nodded. "I know yer don't like it," he shrugged at her, eyeing her carefully and thinking she looked a little drawn, despite her earlier joviality. "You all right?"

"Hmm? Y-yes, I'm fine," she assured him, avoiding his intense gaze.

"I'll see ter th'bacon," Toby mused, turning his back on them and tending to the pan filled with the rashers.

"What has Butler said ter you?" Jack enquired. "Does he give yer trouble?"

"No! No, he doesn't," Celia replied quickly, sighing as Jack continued to regard her closely. "I just get the feeling he doesn't like me, that's all."

"He doesn't like anyone, least of all women," Jack told her. "Treats them like dirt."

"Why?" she wondered, pausing in her eating to finally look at him properly.

"Don't know," Jack shrugged. "He's been like this since I've known him at least."

"Longer," Toby put in, having know the gruff pirate for many years. "Between you, me an' these four walls, he was double crossed by a woman who stole his share of some treasure, an' made off with whom he thought was his best mate."

"Ah," Jack winced, pulling a face. "Still no reason ter hate them as much as he does."

"Maybe it's just that you love women so much, Cap'n," the cook winked knowingly, chortling to himself. "Yer find it hard ter understand a man who doesn't like 'em th'same, eh?"

"That's probably it," Jack chuckled, raising his eyebrows as Oliver Fernan came into the galley. "Problem, Mouse?"

"Ah… no, Cap'n," he replied, startled at coming upon both Celia and Jack unexpectedly. "Just come fer my grub."

"I wondered why you weren't in th'mess. _Why_ weren't you in th'mess?"

"I-I had some business I had ter sort out," the Irishman evaded, avoiding Celia's eyes.

"Don't be late fer supper," his captain warned him, wagging a stern finger. "Toby can't pander ter everyone who decides they want ter eat late."

"I won't. Sorry, Cap'n, Toby…" he grabbed a bowl of the last scrapings of porridge and hurried from the galley.

Celia blushed as Jack turned his attention to her once more, grateful that she was standing by the galley stove and could at least blame that.

"What's th'story with you an' Mouse?" he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against the bulkhead.

"N-nothing," she replied, praying she sounded more convincing than she felt. "We're friends, that is all."

"On his part as well?"

Celia baulked, recalling their kisses the previous day in the hold and she blushed deeper. "As far as I know, yes," she replied, congratulating herself on managing to keep her voice steady.

"All right," Jack nodded, not entirely convinced. "Is that bacon ready yet?" he demanded, changing the subject.

"Just about done, Cap'n," his cook assured him, taking out some rashers and putting them on a couple of plates, along with some stale bread. "Here yer go."

"Ta," Jack grinned, picking a slice up in his fingers. "Ow! It's bloody hot!"

"It would be," Toby sighed, rolling his eyes and grinning at Celia who smiled thinly in return, her mind on other things. "Eat up then," he chivvied, making a mental note to have a word with the tall Irishman. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to be drummed off the ship by an irate captain.

"Cap'n! Cap'n!" Thomas Frazer called as he skidded into the galley, having left his watch post. "Land's been sighted."

"Good!" Jack beamed, following him out, plate still in hand, eating the bacon as he strode along the corridor. "Made better time than I thought," he mumbled through a full mouth.

"Aye – th'weather was fer us, that's fer sure," the master gunner agreed. "Just _why_ have we come down here?" He and his crewmates had spent plenty of time during the cruise south pondering why a privateer's treasure from years ago was so important that their captain made haste to Grenada – a place some of them had never even heard of, let alone been to.

"Followin' a hunch, Mister Frazer," Jack smiled, handing his empty plate to the ship's lad, Peter Swain, son of Matthias, before climbing the steps to the main deck then making his way to the quarterdeck, licking his fingers as he went.

"I still reckon this is folly," Joshamee Gibbs commented as his captain joined him. "We haven't even come across any ships ter sweeten th'men if nothin' comes of this venture…"

"We'll hit some on th'way back," Jack assured him confidently as he took out his spyglass and put it to his eye, scanning the horizon until the landmass of Grenada loomed large in his sight. "Stop yer frettin'."

"Well one of us has to," Gibbs muttered darkly, taking his hip flask from his pocket and cursing as he found it was empty.

"You drink as much as yer worry," Jack observed, still looking through the glass. "Mister Sumner. Keep bearin' south," he ordered to the stand-in helmsman.

"Bearin' south, aye, Cap'n," Jacob acknowledged, keeping the helm steady.

"Loose as much sail as she'll take," Jack barked. "Peter, get th'rest of th'men out here – I don't care if they've finished their bacon or not."

"Aye, Sir," the young boy called, already disappearing down the hatch, returning a few minutes later with the rest of the crew following behind and soon the _Black Pearl_ was a hive of activity.

Jack watched carefully as Oliver Fernan raised the French flag up the mast, frowning as the Irishman eyed Celia as she made her way to the main cabin. '_I'm goin' ter have ter have a word with you_…' he mused, stroking his braids thoughtfully. '_Either that or leave yer in Saint Georges_…' He strode down the quarterdeck steps and made his way over to where Oliver was working, nodding his head as his crewman looked up, indicating for him to follow.

"Matty, take over will yer?" he asked, yielding the rope he had been hauling to Mathhias Swain. "What's wrong, Cap'n?"

"You like Celia."

Oliver bulked, recognising it as a statement and not a question and nodded his head, half dreading what was coming next.

"You know you have no chance," Jack drawled. "She's mine, savvy? Now I don't want ter lose you, yer a damn fine helmsman, as well as a good mate ter these men. So if you take it no further, I'm willin' ter let yer stay on board, eh?"

"Take it no further, Cap'n?" Oliver puzzled, wondering if Celia had told him about the kisses they had stolen the previous day, but knowing that he would not be standing on the deck if his captain had known – he would be locked in the brig, or worse. "I don't follow…"

"You're not ter let Celia know you like her, an' if she already _does_ know, then yer to pretend she means nothin', savvy?"

"But…" Oliver stopped dead when he saw the look in his captain's eyes. A look that was not seen very often by the crew, but they knew better than to push him further when they saw it – if they wanted to remain both on board the ship _and_ in one piece. "Aye, Cap'n," he sighed eventually. "Is that all?"

"That is all, Mister Fernan. But I _shall_ be watchin' you, savvy?"

"Savvy…" Oliver turned on his heel and stomped over to where the men were continuing to haul on the rope, glancing at Jack as he took up his position once more. "Bastard," he muttered darkly beneath his breath. "She doesn't want yer."

"Mouse," Matthias Swain hissed. "No woman is worth th'sort of trouble yer'd get into if ya went after her, eh?"

"Ain't so sure about that," Oliver replied. "She's just a plaything ter him – I'd treat her right."

"Th'cap'n won't misuse her, an' yer know it," John Orchard put in from behind Oliver. "B'sides, it's too late."

"No it ain't," Oliver chuckled wryly. "He ain't taken her yet – she told me herself."

"Bloody hell!" Swain exclaimed, looking back at the tall Irishman. "She could be lyin'…"

"Lyin'?" Oliver snorted. "She doesn't have a lyin' bone in her body."

"True enough," the ship's doctor agreed, nodding his head. "Just be careful, eh?"

"I will be," Oliver promised. "As quiet as a mouse…"

…


	18. Chapter 18

I hate disclaimers, but I'd hate it more if I were sued…

Many thanks for the scant reviews and to Kat for her quicker editing than my uploading!

The is some French in this chapter with English in brackets. Don't blame me if the translation is wrong:-p

I suddenly realised after I had uploaded this chapter that I now need to change the rating – it is now rated M for adult content… stop your squealing, you lot! ;)

…

**Chapter eighteen**

"Oh, thank goodness that's finished!" Celia sighed, flopping down on the stern seat with exhaustion and casting a critical eye around the cabin, smiling with satisfaction on seeing that all was as it should be at last. She sank back, closing her eyes and waiting for the thoughts she had managed to push to the back of her mind to come flooding to the fore, sighing again as they did. '_Why do I allow Jack to affect me so_? _It's sinful… isn't it_?' she fretted, groaning out loud. "What am I going to do?" Celia stood and walked to the side cabin containing the private head and picked up a looking glass, staring at her reflection. '_I don't even recognise you any more_,' she mused, pondering on how much she had changed since arriving in the Caribbean, even if her face did look the same. '_Mother Superior was right – I should never have come over here. This isn't the place for me._' Celia put the glass down carefully and walked over to the bunk, fingering the ribbon binding the edges of the blanket. '_I kissed two men, lost my temper and shared a bed with Jack, all in one day_! _Maybe I should give myself to Jack – I couldn't sink any lower,_' she thought despondently, before frowning crossly and giving herself a shake. "And self pity is not a sin any longer?" she said out loud.

"Perhaps not, but talkin' ter yourself _is_ th'first sign of madness," came Jack's amused drawl from the main cabin.

"Oh!" Celia jumped, placing a hand against her wildly beating heart. "I wish you wouldn't do that!"

"I thought you'd gone ter bed, it was so quiet," he grinned as he leaned on the back of his chair. "Do you want a wash an' change into a dress before we arrive?"

"Could I?" she asked, wondering if she dared suggest that _he_ have a wash as well. "Perhaps I could save the water for you afterwards…?"

"You suggestin' I'm dirty?" Jack enquired, his eyes glinting, whether with anger or amusement, Celia could not tell.

"N-no," she stammered. "I just thought… oh, never mind."

"I will if you wash my back fer me," he teased, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

"I do not think so," Celia snorted. "You can stay mucky…"

"What's th'point in washin' if I can't clean all of myself, eh?" he argued, a seductive smile playing on his lips.

"I manage to clean my back well enough," she sniped, turning so that he could not see her burning cheeks. '_Oh, Lord. Not again_…' she thought as the now familiar sensation of warm desire started creeping through her blood.

"I still can't move my arm that well," he reasoned, walking slowly and quietly over to her. "In fact," he purred in her ear once he had reached her. "There's a lot of me that I can't wash…"

"S-so get one of the men to do it, then."

"Their hands wouldn't be as gentle as yours," he whispered hoarsely, nuzzling her neck.

"Stop it!" Celia gasped, darting from his reach. "Will you _please_ leave me alone?"

"I was only teasin' yer," he protested. "But I don't think, deep down, that you _want_ me ter leave you alone…"

"What are you doing to me?" Celia wailed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I was respectable, decent, and even obedient before you came into my life. And now…"

"Now, you're normal," Jack shrugged. "You're yourself an' not tryin' ter be somethin' that yer not cut out ter be. Why else did you leave th'convent?"

"You know why I left the convent," she hissed angrily, rounding on him, her eyes flashing with anger. "I did not leave the convent to become a pirate's whore!"

"I'm not askin' you ter be a pirate's whore."

"What else would you call a woman who opens her legs willingly to a man, hmm? Chaste?"

"You could always be a pirate's woman. Have some degree of respectibility."

"_Respectibilty_? Dear Lord! What difference would it make what I was called? Whore, woman? The meaning is still the same!"

"All right, all right," Jack soothed as he backed away, wishing he had never started teasing her. "Yer water'll be here soon."

Celia watched with dismay as he strode from the cabin, an almost hurt look on his face and she kicked a nearby trunk, wincing with pain as she did, then hobbled across the cabin, and yanked the door open. "Jack!" she called. "Captain…" she belatedly corrected as she hurried up the quarterdeck steps. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself."

"I'd noticed," he commented, looking at her crossly. "Yer water's ready."

Celia looked over her shoulder as Elliot carried a pail into the cabin and turned back to Jack, beseeching him with her eyes. "A-am I forgiven?" she asked tentatively, chewing her lip.

"If you like," Jack shrugged, taking his spyglass out and peering at the island of Grenada, effectively dismissing her.

She turned dejectedly and headed back down the steps, smiling thinly at Oliver who was hovering nearby.

"Yer all right?" he enquired in a whisper.

Celia nodded and disappeared into the cabin, wiping away a tear that was trickling down her cheek. She padded slowly to the side cabin and took the pail, pouring some of the hot water into a bowl standing on a sturdy table to the side of the small cabin then undressed herself, glad to be out of the clothes she had worn since the previous morning. She sighed heavily, realising that she had forgotten to bring a rag to dry herself with and padded naked across the cabin to a trunk, pulling it open and delving in.

"Bloody hell!" Jack muttered, getting an eyeful of her backside as he came back in to the cabin.

"Oh!" Celia screamed, trying frantically to cover herself with her hands.

"Dunno what you're doin' that for," Jack mused, chuckling softly to himself as he closed the door quickly. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before…"

"I don't care! Get out!" Celia demanded, grabbing the rag and finally preserving her modesty.

"My cabin – you can't order me from my own cabin. B'sides, I need a chart…" He ambled over to the trunk next to the one Celia had been rummaging in, casting a sideways glance at her before concentrating on the task in hand. "You know, if yer _really_ don't want me ter look at you, you could always go to th'side cabin…"

"I-I am!" she declared, storming off with as much dignity as she could muster, the sound of Jack's laughter ringing in her ears. "Damn!" she cursed, unconsciously. "Jack…? Could you bring me the soap?"

"No," he chortled. "Come an' fetch it yourself…"

"I knew that would be the answer," Celia sighed, tying the large rag around herself and going back to the main cabin, avoiding his gaze but feeling his eyes on her nonetheless.

"You sure you don't want me ter clean your back?" he enquired, his voice deeper than usual. "I have nothin' else ter do fer th'moment…"

"N-no," she stuttered. "I-I can m-manage." Celia squatted down to pick the soap up, not wanting to bend and maybe give him another eyeful, and jumped when she straightened, wondering to herself _why_ she was surprised that Jack was right behind her.

"Last chance…" he growled, his eyes dark and lust filled. "Shan't offer again."

"No," Celia replied firmly, turning around even though her knees were trembling and a hot throb had begun between her legs.

"Ah, well," Jack sighed, shrugging his shoulders ruefully. "It was worth a try." He kissed the tip of her nose and swayed back to the table where he had spread the chart, and bent over it, seemingly scrutinising it carefully and ignoring her as she hurried back to the side cabin.

'_Oh my word_,' Celia breathed, leaning against the bulkhead and closing her eyes, opening them immediately as she saw the pirate captain's eyes in her mind. '_I am never going to be able to resist him_.' She picked up a small rag, dipped it in to the bowl and rubbed the block of grey soap against it until it lathered. She let the large rag that had been covering her, drop to her feet and she began washing herself, trying desperately not to imagine Jack's hands wandering over her body instead. Celia hesitated before pushing the cloth between her legs, moaning as the contact sent a bolt of fire coursing through her body. To her astonishment, she found herself rubbing the rag harder and harder against her slit, groaning and writhing where she stood until she felt she was about to explode.

"Celia?"

The young woman physically jumped and let out a yelp as Jack's voice sounded from the other side of the drape. "W-what?" she gasped, her throat feeling too tight to talk.

"You all right, luv?"

"F-fine."

"I've left a dress on th'bunk fer you. Hope you like it…"

"T-thank y-you," she wheezed, sitting down on the head, lest her legs give way on her.

"It's a pleasure," Jack replied, grinning wickedly to himself as he headed to the main cabin doors and outside.

"He heard…" Celia groaned, closing her eyes in disbelief. "You stupid, stupid girl…" She threw the rag into the bowl and stood slowly, torn between wanting to feel disgust with herself and wanting to do it again. '_It was wrong_… _wasn't it_?' she thought. '_But if it was wrong, why did it feel so nice – so…_?' Celia sighed resignedly. "Good," she muttered aloud. "I should pray for forgiveness_…_," she mused, reaching for her rosary beads but then hesitated, feeling as if she would sully them if she touched them now. She walked in a daze to the larger side cabin and the bunk, stopping when she saw the beautiful dark red silk dress, with lace sleeves, which Jack had laid out for her, her eyes going round and her mouth dropping open as she picked it up, and she forgot her shame as she stared at it.

"I-I…" she spluttered, looking wildly around. "I can't possibly wear this!" she exclaimed to the empty cabin, but even as she said it, she could picture herself in it. "Should I try it on?" Celia wondered aloud, before going over to the trunk containing her clothes, retrieving an underslip and knickers that she had bought herself during their last stop in Tortuga, carrying them back to the side cabin and hasilty pulling them on in her eagerness to try the gown on. Celia carefully stepped into it, smoothing down the skirts before realising that it fastened at the back and she was unable to do it herself. '_Never mind_,' she thought going to fetch the looking glass from the private head and wishing that it were larger as she admired her reflection.

"I thought it might suit you."

"Oh! Jack!"

"Aye, Jack. Who'd you think it'd be, eh?"

"I-it's beautiful, but I can't possibly wear this."

"Why not? Got ter make a good impression in a new place. Can yer speak French?"

"A little, why?"

"Grenada is a French island. Best you don't say anythin' when we're ashore, then. Unless there's no-one else around or someone is about ter stick a dagger in my back," Jack quipped.

"Urgh! Don't say that!" Celia shuddered, not wanting to think of horrible things while she was wearing something so beautiful.

"Turn around, I'll lace you." Jack wanted nothing more than to kiss her milky white shoulders as he pulled the laces tight, but knew that if he pushed her after teasing her earlier and then catching her pleasuring herself, he might scupper his chances completely. So he kept quiet and adjusted his breeches where his erection bulged uncomfortably tight, resisting the urge as he tied the ribbons together and patting her shoulder when he had finished.

"T-thank you," Celia smiled, her face flushed red at the closeness of his contact, and a throb between her legs reminding her of her earlier indiscretion made her blush even more and she was eternally grateful for the fact that he could not see.

"I'll go an' wash myself, just fer you… damn!" he muttered as the sound of the anchor chains being released rattled through the cabin. "No time – sorry, luv," Jack shrugged with a grin. "Guess I'll just get changed, eh?"

"Oh… all right," she nodded, hurrying to the main cabin as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt, not wanting to see any part of his flesh in case her resolve weakened to the point of collapse.

'_Bloody hell_,' Jack mused to himself as he stripped off his shirt them remembered that he hadn't brought a change of clothes in with him. '_Hmm_,' he pondered with a wicked grin. "Celia, luv?"

"Yes?" she called from the main cabin.

"It seems I've caught your forgetfulness… can you bring me my best shirt, th'brown breeches an' red waistcoat from th'chest?"

"Are you naked?" Celia asked in a stern tone. "You're not trying to trick me, are you?"

"As if I'd do that…" Jack chuckled, wondering whether to shed his breeches or not before deciding not to.

"Here," the young woman sighed a few minutes later, thrusting a hand through the drapes and handing him his clothes.

"Cap'n!" Gabriel Jennings called. "Th'boats are ready."

"Just comin'," Jack replied, adjusting his good breeches over his still hard member. '_Although not as soon as I'd like_,' he thought wryly. "Can you give me a hand with th'waistcoat?" he asked Celia as he walked into the main cabin, wearing the breeches and shirt and nothing else. "It's a little tight an' I can't bring me arm 'round ter put it on."

"Of course," she smiled, taking the garment off him and helping him into it. "I can't believe how quickly you've healed – or have you?"

"I'm a quick healer," Jack replied evasively. "Could yer do th'buttons…?" he murmured, inhaling her scent as she stepped closer.

"A-all right," Celia smiled breathlessly, chewing her lip as she made a start on the tiny buttons down the front of the brocade waistcoat whilst trying not to react to the closeness of him.

"Thank you," he whispered huskily in her ear when she had finished, smiling as she shivered and was slow to move away from him. "Could yer do my boots as well?"

"Of course," Celia deferred, not asking why he was suddenly unable to manage his boots when he had been putting them on and taking them off for a few days already. She fetched his boots and took them to where he was sitting on his chair and knelt on the deck before him, easing first one foot and then the other into the battered footwear.

"Ta," he grinned, standing and wriggling his toes until he was comfortable. Jack walked to another chest and took out a wide brimmed hat with a large feather and placed it on his head. "Right – now we see what sights Saint Georges has ter offer. Ready, luv?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied, managing a small smile. "There won't be trouble, will there?"

"Nah," Jack assured her with a wave of his hand. "We never come down this way – well _hardly_ ever. They won't know who we are." '_Hopefully_,' he thought to himself. He offered Celia his arm and led the way on to the main deck, doffing his hat to the crew as they jokingly bowed elaborately as he and Celia passed them.

"You look a treat," Joshamee beamed at Celia as they reached the bosun's chair.

"Why, thank you," Jack quipped with a wink as he helped her into the contraption and fastened her in.

"I didn't mean you, as you well know," the quartermaster sighed, rolling his eyes at Celia, who giggled in return.

"Thank you, Joshamee," she smiled, gulping as the chair jerked and the men started to lower her down to the boat, where Gabriel and Elliot were waiting to receive her.

"I've got yer," Elliot grinned, having shoved his crewmate out of the way so he could be the one to help Celia from the chair.

"Yer'll get a dunkin' in a minute," Gabriel sniped, glaring at the younger man.

"Ya'd never row th'boat ter shore on yer own, old man!" Elliot taunted, taking Celia's hand and guiding her to the bench.

"You'll both go back on deck an' I'll have someone more _capable_ if yer not careful," Jack drawled as he climbed down, albeit carefully, to the boat.

"Sorry, Cap'n," both men chorused, still shooting looks at each other as they sat and took up the oars.

Gabriel smirked as he manoeovered himself opposite Celia. "What yer goin' ashore fer, Cap'n?" he enquired.

"Just ter have a look an' do a little askin'," Jack informed him. "See if anyone remembers Geoffrey Goodluck an' where he lived."

"Maybe there could be family living in the area?" Celia suggested. "Perhaps he had children."

"I hope not," the captain of the _Black Pearl_ frowned. "That means they'd have th'treasure then…"

"There might not _be_ any treasure," she reminded him. "If it hasn't been found after all these years…"

"Then that means I will be th'first ter discover it," Jack chipped in, puffing out his chest and preening.

"What if there is treasure?" Elliot pondered. "That would mean havin' ter get it past th'Frenchies."

"We'll deal with that problem when it arises," Jack replied, his confidence bording on arrogance.

"_If_ it arises…"

"One day, you'll learn ter have a little more faith in me, Miss Hammond," he sighed exaggeratedly. "There _is_ treasure ter be found, I can feel it, savvy?"

"Oh, yes. Your infamous intuition…" Celia sniped, smiling sweetly at him.

"She doesn't believe in it, lads," Jack shrugged, pulling a bemused face.

"She will soon enough, Cap'n," Gabriel grinned, having total confidence in his captain's sixth sense. "When she's wearin' gold an' pearls around her neck, diamonds an' rubies on her fingers…"

"Oh, enough, already!" Celia exlcaimed. "I'm not interested in jewels and suchlike."

"You will be," Jack replied knowingly. "You will be…" He turned to see who was at the quayside, taking in a couple of stevedors and someone whom he assumed was the harbourmaster. "No talkin' now - apart from you, Jennings."

"Oui, Capitaine," the crewman replied, being one of few crewmen able to speak French. "Bonjour!" he called to a dockhand, tossing the mooring rope to him.

"Bonjour," the harbourmaster greeted as he approached the boat, giving Jack a hand out, who in turn helped Celia . "Quel est votre bateau?" (what is your ship)

"Lé _Perle_." (the _Pearl_). Capitaine Jaques Menet, à votre service" (Captain Jack Menet at your service).

"It is ten livre to berth your ship. Will your boat be staying?" the man asked in French, holding out an expectant hand.

"Daylight robbery," Jack muttered in English, fishing about in his pocket and retrieving the monies required. "No, my men will be returning to the ship. Can you recommend a good tavern?" he enquired, slipping back into the foreign tongue.

"L'Anchre Bleu," the master informed them, pocketing the money and going on his way.

"M-must we?" Celia stammered once the man was out of earshot, shivering violently. "I-I don't w-want to g-go there," she whispered.

"Eh?" Jack frowned until he remembered that it was the name of the tavern in which Davy Stockton had held his auction of the captured women. "Hey," he chivvied gently, winding his arm around her. "It's not th'same place."

"I-I k-know, but still…"

"We'll have a look around, see if we can find somewhere else, eh? Jennings – hide th'boat so ol'beaky nose doesn't find it then you two can come an' catch us up, savvy?"

"Oui, Capitaine," he nodded, speaking in the local tongue even if his captain wasn't.

"Come on, Madamoiselle," Jack drawled. "Let's find us a tavern."

…


	19. Chapter 19

Usual disclaimers

This is an extra long chapter as there was nowhere I could break it up!

With thanks to Kat for editing

…

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Bloody hell, Jack!" Joshamee Gibbs exclaimed when Jack, Celia and the two crewmen finally returned to the _Black Pearl_ some four hours later, just past six bells of the first watch. "Where in the blazes have you been?"

"Sampling th'fine delights of a very nice French tavern," Jack slurred, weaving his way to the portly man and jabbing him in the chest. "An' very fine delights they were too, eh, Grabrl… Greb.. Gerbil… wassisname?"

"Very, very, fine delights," Gabriel Jennings agreed, leaning heavily on Oliver Fernan with a silly grin on his face.

"For pity's sake! You could have been accosted the state you're in!" the quartermaster admonished. "What about Celia? Anything could have happened to her and you lot would have been too drunk to do anything!"

"Ah, but Gibbs…" Jack started, his hands doing a merry dance before him. "She's th'drunkest of us all! Hmmm," he mused, putting a finger to his lips at the second attempt. "Drunkest… is that even a word, Mister Deane?"

"Dunno, Cap'n," the young man replied, frowning as if deep in thought. "But if it ain't, yer've just invented a word!"

"So I have!" Jack grinned, his face lighting up in delight. "Drunkest… what a fine word that is, don't you agree, Miss Hammond."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. A very fine word," Celia nodded, tottering along the deck. "Oh dear, I feel quite…"

"Over th'side!" Jack instructed, wincing as she threw up over the deck. "Too late…"

"I'll see ter it," Oliver offered, carefully putting his crewmate against the main mast for support before hurrying off to fetch a swab and bucket, although what he really wanted to do was look after Celia. But he knew better than to offer - drunk or not, his captain would remember it and deal with him as he saw fit once he was sober enough to do so.

"Come on, luv," Jack growled, swaying over to her and winding an arm around her waist. "Let's get yer in th'cabin."

"Is that wise?" Joshamee enquired. "She might be…" he sighed, rolling his eyes as Celia vomitted once more. "Sick again…" he finished with a rueful shrug.

"Perhaps yer right, Gibbs," Jack mused. "We'll stay here a while 'til you've recovered," he told Celia, sitting on the deck with a thud and pulling her down to join him.

"But I don't want to," she pouted, resting her head on his shoulder. "I want to go to sleep…"

"An' yer shall," Jack assured her, still weaving even though he was sitting down. "Just not until yer've brought up whatever it is yer goin' ter bring up, savvy?"

"Oh, Oliver," Celia beamed as the Irishman re-appeared. "You should have come with us! We had brandy and it was so-o-o-o…"

"Thank gawd yer went that way an' not this," Jack remarked as she turned her head to the side and was sick once more.

"Did you _have_ to let her get into this state?" Joshamee sighed, frowning at his captain.

"Ah…" Jack winced, having the good grace to look guilty. "We got talkin' ter this man who remembered Goodluck an' I guess I lost track of how much we were drinkin' - especially _her_. She's goin' ter hate me in th'mornin'."

"With good reason. Get those two below," the quartermaster ordered Noah and Myles, nodding at the two drunken crewmen sliding down the main mast in a stupor. "And I think perhaps you two had better get to bed as well." He reached down and gave his captain a hand to his feet and hauled Celia up with Oliver's help.

"_I'll_ take her, thank you, Mister Fernan," Jack snapped, pushing him out of the way and taking Celia's hand possesively, leading her to his cabin. "G'night, Gibbs. You have command…"

"I did anyway," the older man muttered as the cabin door shut in his face. "I'd like to see _you_ take command in that state."

"Ah, an' yer've never got in _that_ state?" Oliver grinned. "Brandy's a killer ter get over from what I hear," he chuckled. "I'm glad I've got shore leave in th'mornin'."

"Bloody hell," Joshamee chortled. "So am I…"

…

"Bloody hell! I'm never drinkin' brandy again," Jack muttered as he prised his eyes open and clutched his face in his hands as the daylight streaming through the cabin windows made his head pound even more, which he had not thought possible.

"It's the brandy?" Celia gasped, mirroring his actions and covering her face. "I feel like I've been… I don't know."

"Keelhauled," Jack stated. "That's what I feel like I've been. "Dragged along th'bottom of th'ship from first bell ter last bell… damnation!" he swore.

"_Please_ can I stay here today?" she begged. "I can't get up - I'd never make it to the head, let alone the main cabin."

"But Monsieur Le Verde told us that Goodluck lived here with his wife an' child," Jack argued, starting to remember what the Frenchman had told them the previous evening. "We have ter find out where an' see what that brings."

"Can't it wait?" Celia pleaded. "Until tomorrow, at least. Saint Georges isn't going anywhere for the next day or so."

"Ah, but I don't know how much we let slip last night," he worried, pulling a face. "Damn! Brandy has never affected me like that before. We have ter make a move today, just in case."

"Oh, no," she groaned, throwing her hands up in despair and wincing as the sunlight hurt her eyes once more. "Curse you, Jack Sparrow, for allowing me to drink at all, let alone something that would make me feel like _this_!"

"Sorry, luv," Jack apologised. "I swear I won't do it again."

"You had better not," she threatened. "I'll make your life a living hell if you do."

"My life is _already_ a livin' hell," he grumbled, feeling willing to trade every penny of his treasure to make the pain go away.

"Good," she muttered sarcastically. "I only wish I could give you my pain as well…"

"You'd kill me," Jack pouted. "You wouldn't want my death on yer conscience, would you?"

"Right now…?" Celia sniped

"Cap'n? I've brought yer somethin' ter make yer feel better," Tobias Pellew called. "Can I come in?"

"Of course yer can!" Jack urged. "Anythin' ter make me feel somethin' like human again."

"It's an old receipe that I got off me gran'father," the cook grinned as he entered the side cabin, arching an eyebrow at the state the couple lying on the bunk were in. "It works wonders…"

"I bloody well hope so," Jack muttered, taking a beaker from Toby and sniffing the contents.

"Don't ask…" Toby chuckled, seeing the question form on Jack's lips. "Might be best if yer don't know."

"Ah… is it likely ter poison us?"

"No," the burly man answered, shaking his head. "Just drink it in one gulp."

"I-I'm not sure I will," Celia fretted, looking at the beaker as if it were alive. "I'll recover in time."

"Come on, we'll drink it together, eh?" Jack chivvied, taking the other beaker and handing it to her. He sat up gingerly, closing his eyes at the pounding pain reverberating through his skull and beckoned Celia to sit, helping her with his free hand.

"Oh…" she groaned, turning even paler than she already was.

"One… two… you've got ter drink it as well… three!"

Both Jack and Celia tipped their respective beakers up and downed the contents in one go, both looking horrified at Tobias as the liquid poured down their throats.

"Jesus, man!" Jack gasped, once he caught his breath. "What in th'name of all that is good, is _that_?"

"Like I said, Cap'n - best yer don't know," he chuckled, taking the beakers off them. "Yer'll feel better before long."

"I doubt very much that I could feel any worse," Celia moaned, sinking back against the pillows that she and Jack had shared during their drunken slumber.

"Well it's all right fer you, missy," Jack sniped. "But I've got a ship ter run an' men ter organise." He clambered from the bunk, clutching the side as he swayed violently, then went to find his boots before realising he still had them on. "Toby, ask around ter see who else can speak French - even if it's only a few words."

"Aye, Cap'n," the cook nodded. "Send them in ter you?"

"I'll be on deck, I need some air. In fact, that wouldn't do you any harm, young lady."

"Must I?" Celia groaned. "Oh! This lovely dress! It's ruined!" She shot off the bunk faster than was wise and grabbed hold of Jack as the cabin spun ferociously.

"It isn't ruined," Jack smiled, putting his arm around her waist and eyeing the few creases in the dress. "I don't think either of us moved last night - in fact, it's a miracle we made it ter th'bunk at all."

"Aye," Toby grinned from by the cabin door. "I half expected ter find yer both on th'deck!"

"I'll change," Celia said once the cook had gone. "Could you unlace me?"

"You know it's a pleasure," Jack chuckled wryly as he untied the knot and losened the dress, risking a peek down the back. "That stuff's workin' already," he mused as the pounding in his head seemed to lessen.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, turning around and looking at him suspiciously, wondering if he had been sneaking a look. "I'll wear my yellow dress, I think." She walked carefully into the main cabin to the trunk where her effects were stored, and bent down, holding her head with one hand whilst pulling a pale yellow, sleeveless cotton dress that Scarlett had given her, with her other hand, carrying it back to the side cabin and sighing as she found Jack leaning on the edge of the bunk with his arms folded and making no move to go anywhere. "If you don't mind…?" she hinted.

"Seen it all before," Jack shrugged. "B'sides, yer not goin' ter be naked again, are you?"

"How about respecting my privacy?" she snapped, wincing as the sound of her voice sent a sharp pain stabbing through it.

"Privacy respected," he laughed, planting a kiss on her bare shoulder as he went past. "We'll have some breakfast then head into town, savvy?"

"Food?" she groaned. "No…"

"Yer said that _last_ time you got drunk."

"You mean last time you _got_ me drunk," Celia reminded him as she changed from the red silk dress to the yellow cotton one and laying the finer one on the bunk, smoothing it down. "I still don't think I can face food, though." She went to the private head and hesitantly picked up her rosary beads, chewing her lip as she put them around her neck, promising herself she would pray for forgiveness later.

"All right. Maybe get somethin' in town, eh?"

"Were you serious about having to leave quickly?"

"Aye. I can't take th'risk that my tongue was loosened last night. Or Gabriel or Elliot's fer that matter."

"So won't it be dangerous staying?"

"Probably," Jack mused, sounding decidedly unconcerned. "But we'll be all right," he assured her. "After all, this is Captain Jack Sparrow of th'infamous _Black Pearl_ we're on about here."

"It's the infamy that worries me," Celia remarked as she joined him in the main cabin.

"Let's go an' take th'air while we wait fer th'men ter be ready, eh?"

"You make it sound like we're going for a stroll in the park!" she chuckled, slipping her hand in the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead her from the cabin.

"We shall take a stroll of th'decks, instead," Jack announced, holding the door for her and bowing elaborately as she passed him.

"Mornin' Miss Celia, Cap'n," Gabriel smiled, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking decidedly worse for wear. "Recovered yet?"

"I don't think I'll recover fer th'rest of th'day," Jack groaned with a grin. "Did Toby give yer some of his vile concoction?"

"No!" Gabriel shuddered. "I've had it before, I ain't takin' it ever again. Have yer seen Elliot yet?"

"No, why?" Jack frowned, hoping that they had not misplaced the young crewman the previous night. He couldn't remember whether they had all returned together or not.

"Yer'd never believe th'little runt drunk more than th'rest of us last night! Sober as a bleedin' judge! Pardon my language, Miss," he apologised, bowing his head.

"Sober? How on earth can he be sober?" Celia gasped, ignoring the disrespect. "That is so unfair!"

"Welcome ter real life, luv," Jack chuckled wryly as he took her arm once more and walked towards the bow, breathing in the sea air in an effort to clear his head.

…

"Right, yer know what ter do, lads," Jack announced to the group of crewmen standing on the dockside. "Go ter where Monsieur Le Verde said Goodluck lived an' search th'house - but no-one is ter be hurt, savvy?"

"Aye," the crew chorused as they headed off in the direction that their captain had said the privateer's house had been.

"How can you remember everything that was said last night - the amount you drunk?" Celia pondered as she slipped her arm in Jack's and allowed him to lead her down the street. The Frenchman they had been speaking to in the tavern the previous night, had told them that he believed Goodluck's wife and child were buried in the churchyard and she, Jack, Gabriel, Thomas Frazer and Josiah Phelps were heading to the large church on the outskirts of town, hoping to pick up some clue. Some clue as to what, Celia had no idea, but the men seemed to trust their captain so she decided to reserve judgement.

"One of my many talents," Jack grinned. "Speak French now," he warned as he spotted a number of people going about their business, and the group of them walked in near silence until they reached the churchyard on the edge of town. "Here it is," Jack beamed as he pushed open the gate. "Th'church of Saint George, or Georges, being as we're in French territory."

Celia picked up the hem of her dress and stepped on to the muddy path, wishing she could go barefoot. At least her feet would be easier to clean than her shoes - the only shoes she owned. "What do we look for?" she asked, turning to wait for Jack to join her.

"A grave with th'name Goodluck would be a start," he pondered, nodding to him men to spread out and look. He had chosen those able to read and had made sure they could recognise the name Goodluck.

"And if there isn't one?"

"Monsieur Le Verde says there is, so…"

Shall I go inside the church and look for a crypt?"

"Good idea," Jack nodded, patting her backside as she passed him and looking as innocent as he could when she glared back at him.

Celia opened the door to the church and bent to take her shoes off, leaving them outside in the porch. She padded barefot along the cold stone floor, crossing herself as she reached the aisle. She sat on a pew and bent her head in prayer, working her rosary beads as she did. '_I am changing_,' she thought sadly. '_How can I stop myself from changing_? _How can I resist the advances of Jack when he's so_… _irresistable_!'

"Vous bénir, mon enfant," a voice behind her intoned, and Celia jumped to her feet. (bless you, my child)

"Merci, le Père," she replied, bobbing a curtsy to him. (thank you, father)

"Etes-vous ici pour l'aveu ?" he enquired, pressing the tips of his fingers together. (are you here for confession?)

"Non!" Celia exclaimed, not wanting to have to face confessing all of her sins. "I am here to find a tomb," she told him in slow French, hoping that he would not become suspicious of her.

"Ah," the priest nodded. "What is the name?" he asked her in a heavy accent.

"Goodluck," she smiled hopefully.

"Je sais sais ce nom. Peut-être essayer les rapports." (I do not know this name. Perhaps try the records).

Celia sighed as she stuggled to understand him, wishing that one of the men who could speak French were there with her.

"Here," the priest smiled, taking her arm and leading her to a room to the side of the pulpit. He sat her down at a small table and took a book from a chest of drawers, placing it in front of him before retreating with a nod of the head.

"Oh," she smiled brightly as she realised what it was. "Merci." She eagerly opened the book and leafed through the pages, going back many years as Jack had told her that Geoffrey Goodluck had last been seen alive at least twenty years ago.

"Celia?"

"In here, Jack," she called. "The priest has let me look through the records," she told him as he looked around the door at her. "I take it you have had no luck outside?"

"Not so far," the pirate sighed, going over to where she sat and peered at the book, his beard braids tickling her shoulder. "Have they listed th'pauper's graves?"

"I don't know," Celia frowned. "Where would it be?"

"Probably at th'back," he replied acerbically. "So as not ter sully th'well ter do's…"

"_Jack_…" she chided, frowning at him. "That's not very nice."

"Th'church ain't very nice, in my experience," he snorted. "Not matter what denomination." He reached over and turned to the back of the book, harrumphing in triumph as they both saw a list of names on the back page. "There!" he exclaimed, jabbing a finger on the page. "Rebecca Goodluck! Come on." Jack grabbed Celia's hand and pulled her from the chair, all but running back down the aisle.

"Hold on! I need my shoes!" she cried as he was about to drag her barefoot down the dirty path. She leaned against the doorway of the porch and slipped her shoes back on, lifting the hem of her dress as she joined Jack on the path.

"Find th'pauper's graveyard," Jack ordered. "Rebecca Goodluck is buried there."

"It must be down here, then," Thomas Frazer observed, indicating a rather overgrown part of the cemetery which was down a slope. He lead his captain, Celia and crewmates to where he had pointed out and pushed a rickety gate open, flattening grass as he did. "They must be doin' better fer themselves, nowadays," he remarked in his Scottish lilt. "There ain't been a burial here fer many a year."

"Unless they used up all th'space an' bury them elsewhere," Jack remarked acerbically.

"That's more like it," Gabriel Jennings nodded as he started searching for the grave of Rebecca Goodluck.

"Mind where you're puttin' yer feet," Jack instructed Celia as she went to join the men. "You never know what's hidden in th'undergrowth an' your shoes aren't as protective as our boots, savvy?"

"I will," she promised, stepping carefully on to the vegitation and scanning the graves nearest to her before moving on.

"Here!" Josiah Phelps called, waving for everyone to join him, which they did as quickly as they could.

"Now there's a strange thing," Jack mused, frowning and stroking his chin as they looked at the grave. "It's a bit posh fer a pauper's grave…"

"Aye, that it is," Frazer agreed.

"Oh!" Celia stated, running a finger along the elaborate carving at the top and tracing a line down to the name of the woman buried there.

'_Here lies Rebecca Goodluck_

_Beloved wife of Geoffrey and mother to Ann_

_Died…_'

Celia squatted down and pulled away the weeds and grasses that were obscuring the rest of the stone, frowning as she noticed the figure of a rotund woman holding a pot, with the image of a dragon at her feet, engraved at the foot of the stone.

"What th'hell's that all about?" Gabriel wondered, looking at his companions. "Any ideas?"

"No…" Celia mused uncertainly, trying to figure why it seemed familiar.

"No?" Jack pressed. "You don't sound very certain, luv."

"There's something about that carving… something I feel I should know," she sighed, accepting Jack's hand up.

"I think th'best course of action is ter bring some parchment an' do a rubbin' of th'picture," the pirate captain stated. "That way no-one will forget what it looks like an' someone onboard might be able ter make head or tail of what it means."

"Actually," Thomas interjected. "I can draw a little, Cap'n. If ye can perhaps buy some parchment an' some charcoal in town, I can come back an' draw it fer ye?"

"You can draw well enough ter do a good likeness of that?" Jack demanded.

"He can draw well enough ter do a good likeness of me," Josiah chuckled. "How d'yer think he's got so much money, Cap'n? He draws pictures an' sells 'em ter th'crew."

"Well, well," Jack mused, looking in a new light at his master gunner. "There is, or _was_ actually somethin' goin' on on my ship that I didn't know about…"

"Yer don't mind, do yer, cap'n?" Frazer fretted. "I didn't think there'd be harm in it."

"No harm at all," Jack chuckled. "I just prided myself on knowin' everythin', an' now it seems I don't."

"Pride cometh before a fall," Celia remarked, an innocent expression on her face.

"An' a tanned backside comes after being cheeky ter your captain," he warned with a grin. "Let's head back ter town an' purchase what Mister Frazer needs, then he can head back here an' we can go back ter th'comfort of th'ship."

"We'll go an' find th'others, shall we, Cap'n? Tell 'em what we've found, an' see if they've come up with somethin', like?" Gabriel suggested. "An' then sample th'fine delights of this town..." he grinned, winking laciviously.

"Aye, good idea," Jack nodded, offering Celia his arm as they and Thomas Frazer headed towards the town once more, whilst the other two men went in the other direction.

"Fine delights?" Celia frowned, missing the look that the two men gave each other behind her back.

"Ah… y'see, luv. There's this famous, or infamous, brothel in town, an' that's where th'men are goin' after they have searched Goodluck's old house," Jack explained, rolling his eyes at his master gunner in amusement, knowing that the young woman would be uncomfortable with the subject. He hoped that she would realise that Oliver was amongst them and that it would maybe dampen whatever feelings she might have for the Irishman, even though he doubted very much that his helmsman would actually join his crewmates at the brothel.

"Oh. I see." Celia walked on in silence, wondering what it would be like to have men every day and night, and whether the whores found it as pleasurable as she found rubbing herself had been. She was broken from her reverie by Jack changing direction and tugging her towards a gentleman and she wondered what he was up to now.

"Excuse me," Jack enquired in perfect French. "Could you tell me where I might purchase some parchment or paper?" He listened intently as the man gave him directions, gesticulating and pointing until Jack nodded and clasped his hands together, bowing his head. "Merci," he smiled, leading his companions down a lane. "There's a paper mill by th'river," he grinned.

"An' here's a lump of coal that will do fer drawin' with," Thomas observed, scooping down to pick up a small lump from where someone had thrown out their old embers.

"We're all set up, or we will be once I've brought some paper. Ah! There it is." The trio crossed over a small bridge and walked towards the mill, stopping as a woman approached. She led them into a small outbuilding when Jack had told her what he wanted and beckoned them to wait while she disappeared through a door which led to the mill itself.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," a man greeted them. "Madame," he nodded at Celia, not bothering to greet Thomas who was in working clothes and therefore obviously lower class and not worth his attention. "I believe you require some paper?" he enquired in his native tongue. "How much and of what quality?"

"I wish to purchase some writing paper and some coarser paper for drawing, please," Jack smiled.

"Of course," the mill owner replied, bowing his head and going back to the mill, returning a few minutes later with a number of sheets of both sorts of paper. "How much of each?"

"I'll take th'lot," Jack smiled, careful not to show his gold teeth and give himself away as something other than a gentleman.

"Oh," the man beamed, delighted at such a good sale. "That will be twenty pistole."

Jack nodded and handed the money over from a leather pouch strung around his waist, handing one sheet of the coarser paper to his gunner and waiting whilst the mill owner wrapped the remainder up to protect it and handed it to him. "I'll take the rest back on board for you," he told Thomas in French.

"For me?" Thomas exclaimed, also in French. "Merci, Capitaine!"

"So… have you worked out what it was about that carvin?" Jack enquired as he and Celia strolled back down the lane and towards the town while Thomas headed back towards the churchyard, cutting across a meadow to save having to walk the long way around via the lane.

"No…" Celia puzzled, pulling a face. "I feel I know it, or at least, _should_ know it."

"Don't think about it an' it'll come ter you," Jack smiled, covering her hand, nestled in the crook of his arm, with his and watching her from the corner of his eye. He was still torn as to whether to say anything about having caught her the previous day as she pleasured herself, wanting to tease or even press her into giving into his charms, but decided to continue biding his time. He wanted Celia more than any woman since he had left Lymington all these years before, when he had been forced to do so by the husband of the woman he loved. '_Isabel_…' he thought to himself, smiling briefly as he remembered her.

Celia glanced at Jack, wondering why he had such a faraway look in his eyes and felt a slight pang of jealousy. '_What on earth do I have to feel jealous about_?' she pondered with a frown. '_Because people only look like that when they're thinking of someone they care about_…' a voice sniped inside her head. '_And you would rather it were you he was daydreaming about_…?' Celia baulked, smiling sheepishly at Jack who was looking at her curiously. "I tripped over a stone," she evaded, shrugging her shoulders. '_See, you're happy now you have his attention once more_…' She smiled at her companion again then set her eyes dead ahead, trying in vain to dislodge the thoughts running through her head, not helped by Jack absently stroking her hand as they walked.

"Jack…" she began, trying a different tack to take her mind off how he was making her feel. "What if it's nothing? What if the gravestone is just that - a gravestone?"

"Why have a gravestone like that in a pauper's yard?" he argued, shrugging his shoulders. "Doesn't make sense."

"You say he was a privateer - that is like a licensed pirate, yes?"

"Aye," Jack replied, looking at her with his head cocked to one side, wondering what she was gettin at.

"Maybe she died whilst he was _away_ and rather than have her re-buried in the posher cemetary, he had the stone placed on where she was buried?"

"Possibly," he mused, stroking his braids thoughtfully. "But it doesn't explain th'bible and th'scrap of paper, does it?"

"With all due respect," Celia sighed, "that is a very, _very_ long shot."

"So why put down a bearing an' hide it in th' spine? A bearin' that happened ter lead to where his wife an' child lived?" Jack urged. "I just _know_ there is somethin' to all of this - it might not be treasure, but I _have_ ter find out what."

"Why? What is so important?"

"_If_ it does lead ter his treasure, an' I know it's a very big if - I could easily double my wealth," he told her with a satisfied grin.

"_If_ the rumours of his treasure are true," she pointed out. "He could have pretended he was richer than he was, or it could easily have already been found."

"Young lady," Jack sighed, throwing both hands up in the air. "Would yer _please_ stop puttin' a damper on things? I want there ter be treasure an' so there will be, savvy?"

"If there isn't? Won't the crew be angry?"

Jack shrugged once more, taking her hand in his as they continued to walk towards the town. "They know that some yer win, some yer lose. Now can you please concentrate on workin' out what that figure means, eh?"

"Probably nothing…"

"So why put some strange carving on her headstone? It _must_ mean something."

"Maybe it does - _did_, to them," Celia reasoned.

"You are determined ter talk me out of this, aren't you?"

"No… yes," she admitted with a rueful smile. "It just seems so… I don't know. Silly…"

"Come an' let's sit down," Jack smiled, guiding her towards a low wall surrounding a field. "I have a little story ter tell you."

"What?" the young woman enquired as Jack placed the parcel of paper he was carrying on the wall, picked her up and placed her on top of the wall before hoisting himself up and sitting next to her.

"Y'see this…" Jack fished about in his coat pocket and brought out a compass which he opened and showed her. "You notice somethin' strange about it?"

"No," Celia frowned, looking closely at it as he turned it this way and that.

"It doesn't point north," the pirate captain informed her. "Now any sailor worth his salt'd take one look at it and throw it away, but I had a feelin' about it - felt it would lead me ter somethin'."

"And did it?" she sighed, feeling he was about to tell her that he had found the most fabulous wealth imaginable.

"You should know better than ter ask," Jack chuckled wryly. "It leads ter th'Isla de Muerta."

"Oh!" Celia gasped, knowing about the dread isle from what Jack had told her about Barbossa and his crew mutinying against him. "How did you come across it?"

"Strangest thing," he mused, thinking back nigh on fifteen years. "Everyone had heard about th'fabled Isla de Muerta an' the cursedtreasure of Cortez, but no-one actually _believed_ it. Then we were careenin' th'ship on a tiny island off th'coast of Venezula an' we came across a tribe of natives who were governed by a white man. We bartered a few things an' shared some grog, but as we were about ter leave, he took me ter one side an' said I had th'_gift_ an' gave me this, tellin' me it led ter th'dread isle."

"What gift?" Celia interrupted.

"My intuition," Jack grinned, spreading his hands out and circling his wrists.

"Oh yes, your _infamous_ intuition."

"Now he told me that this would guide me there, that I had ter _let_ it guide me, but we were not ter take a single coin from Cortez's chest or we would be cursed."

"So where did he get it from?"

"He wouldn't say, only that he'd been there with his crew an' taken some of the coins. Th' crew turned on themselves, there was a riot on th'ship an' it burned an' sank, - he _just_ managed ter escape an' then collected up th'coins, returnin' them ter th'island before takin' up life here."

"Did you believe him?" Celia asked, too fascinated by the story to notice Jack's arm snaking its way around her waist.

"I wasn't sure - Barbossa reckoned it was just th'drink talkin', that is was a tall tale. He soon found out different," Jack mused, a faraway look in his eyes.

"So how did Barbossa find his way there?"

"I'd already worked out th'bearings," Jack sighed. "As with all compasses, it gives a different bearin' in different places but because it doesn't point north, I had ter… _listen_ to it, if you like - let th'compass tell me th'bearin', an' I finally worked out where th'Isla de Muerta was." He shook himself, jumping down from the wall. "Well, you just figure out that carving, young lady, an' we'll see if my intuition is right or not, shall we? If not, I'll give myself ter _you_!" he winked, helping her down and holding onto her, drawing her in closer until they were inches apart.

"I-I don't think so," Celia squeaked, trying to pull away from both his grasp and his gaze. "_Jack_! We're in public!"

"Will you kiss me in private then?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. "An' perhaps somethin' else…?"

"Y-you k-know the answer to that," she whispered with little conviction.

"Which one, th'kissin' or th'somethin' else?"

"B-both," Celia stammered. "People are looking at us!" she hissed, glancing over his shoulder as two elderly women passed by, looking aghast at them.

"They're French," Jack shrugged. "Far more easy goin' about things like this."

"Well I'm not and I'm not!" she declared, shoving him in the chest and stomping down the lane, her face burning and her heart nearly hammering its way out of her chest.

"French!" Jack shushed, flapping his hands at her as he quickly followed. "Speak French!"

"Why don't you?" she sniped, shrugging his hand from her shoulder as he reached her.

"For heaven's sake! You'll get us all hanged!" Jack snapped in French. "Yes, young lady, even you!" He took her by the arm and marched her down the street, intent on heading back to the ship, but Celia stopped in her tracks, causing Jack to almost overbalance. "What now?" he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"That figure… I'm sure it's a saint."

"A saint…?" Jack echoed, arching a doubtful eyebrow. "A housewife that slays dragons!" he teased with a sarcastic grin.

"Yes!" Celia cried out. "Saint Martha! Goodness knows, I prayed enough to her when I was scrubbing the convent floor in the depths of winter. You're a genuis!"

Both their heads shot around at the sound of pistol fire from the other side of town and Jack took her arm once more, propelling her forward. "Time ter go, I think…"

"Why?" Celia enquired, looking sideways at him. "Is there trouble?"

Jack looked acerbically at her, shaking his head at her innocence. "Trouble usually follows shots being fired, yes," he confirmed. "An' when we're in town, it's usually _us_ that's either _in_ trouble or causin' it… or both!"

"Why doesn't _that_ surprise me?"

"Looks like they've been sussed," he sighed regretfully. "Bang goes tonight's little raid…"

"You weren't?" Celia gasped, stopping at looking at Jack with a horrified expression.

"Of course we were," he laughed, taking her arm and pulling her along the raoad once more. "No point in comin' all this way without some recompense."

"I can't believe you. The sooner I work my debt off, the better!" she snapped, storming away from Jack and not seeing his frown and hurt glance.

"We're pirates, in case yer hadn't noticed, young lady. How else do you expect us ter eat?"

"I'll bet you have enough treasure stashed away to live on for the rest of your lives," Celia hissed angrily. "So don't tell me you need more."

"Bugger!" Jack swore, running and grabbing Celia's arm as he caught up with her. "Run!"

"Wha…?" She shrieked as a shot whizzed close by, throwing up dirt to the side of her and she hoisted her skirts up and ran, fear giving speed to her legs and she easily kept pace with Jack.

"Deane! Get Celia in th'boat an' row, savvy?" Jack shouted as they approached the docks. "Draw yer pistol, as well…"

Elliot Deane did as his captain bid, taking out a French solider who had almost caught up with his quarry, then tucked the spent weapon into the waist of his breeches and jumped into the boat, reaching up to help Celia in once they reached him.

"Keep her safe," Jack ordered, turning to fire his own pistol then throwing the useless gun to one side and drawing his sword, running it through one man and hitting another over the head with the hilt.

"_Captain_!" Gabriel Jennings bellowed as four of the crew rounded a corner and found the place swarming with military men with more following behind them.

"Get to th'ship any way yer can!" Jack replied, as he fought off another opponant. "Where're th'rest of you?"

"We got split up - th'rest have gone ter th'hidden boats," Oliver Fernan yelled, grabbing a gendarme and headbutting him, splitting his nose open with the force. "Never did like th'French…" he muttered.

"Good," Jack smiled to himself, enjoying the battle as were the rest of his men.

Celia sat dismayed in the boat, watching the carnage unfolding before her eyes, her hand shooting to her mouth in horror as one of the French officials launched himself at Jack.

"Maybe yer'd best sit with yer back to it," Elliot suggested, kicking himself for having positioned them both so that she couldn't see what he wanted to and she did not.

"N-no… go back for them. They need a boat," she urged.

"Th'cap'n told me ter keep you safe."

"_Please_," Celia begged. "Go back… I'll take your punishment for you, _please_…"

"He'll kill me," the young man muttered, stopping the boat and sitting there, undecided.

"Elliot!"

"Ah, sod it!" he swore, starting to row back towards the quay again. "If I'm goin' ter die, it might as well be doin' somethin' good fer a change." He turned the boat, letting it drift the last few yards to the wharf and wished fervently that he had time to load his pistol with shot.

"Cap'n! Th'boat's comin' back," Matthias shouted above the din of the fight.

"I'll bloody kill him" Jack promised, dispatching a soldier with more force than was strictly necessary. "I gave you an order, Deane!"

"Miss Celia made me turn back," Elliot whined. "Besides, I know fer a fact that Gabriel an' Matty can't swim…"

"You lot - in!" Jack ordered, jerking a thumb at the boat, covering for Gabriel and Matthias as they climbed down, and he cursed silently as more troops arrived to join in the meleé. "Mouse!" he called, frowning as he realised his crewman was surrounded by men and in danger.

"Jack! Oliver!" Celia screamed, looking aghast as the Irishman fell to an onslaught from the French and Jack fought his way over to him, grabbing his collar and hauling him to his feet then fighting his way out again.

"Thank's Cap'n," Oliver muttered as he ran as best he could towards the boat, bleeding copiously from a sword wound in his side and various lacerations, wincing as pain stabbed at him with every movement.

"Row!" Jack commanded, jumping into the water and taking Oliver with him, pushing the striken man towards Gabriel's outstreched hands, relieved when he dragged his crewmate onto the boat.

"Come on, Jack," Celia urged, reaching out for him and pulling his hand as he clasped hers, and with help from Gabriel, hauled him aboard, while Elliot and Matthias pulled hard on the oars. The occupants of the boat jumped out of their skins as a boom sounded from the _Black Pearl_ and several of the French troops fell into the water as the cannon shot found its target.

"That was a bit bloody close," Jack yelled in the direction of his ship.

"Good job yer've got th'best gunners then, ain't it?" Gabriel quipped with a grin before turning his attention to his fallen crewmate. "Bloody hell, Mouse. Yer in a right state."

"Ta," the Irishman croaked. "I needed ter hear that…"

"Here, let me," Celia offered, changing positions as best she could and lifting Oliver's shirt, unsucessfully stifling a gasp as she saw the wound in his side. She tried to get to her undershift to rip up as a pad, but found Jack's soaking wet shirt being proffered instead.

"I've got plenty of shirts," he shrugged, ducking instintively as another shot whizzed over their heads. "I wonder if that means Frazer made it back all right?" he mused

"I reckon so," Elliot grinned. "Did yer find anythin' out, Cap'n? About Goodluck?"

"I'll tell yer on board - right now, concentrate on gettin' us ter safety, savvy?" Jack watched as Celia tended Oliver's wound, a pang of jealousy stabbing at him but he pushed it down, wanting all of his wits about him when he boarded the ship and made ready to flee, although he knew his quartermaster would already have everything in hand.

"Jack," Celia worried. "You're bleeding as well…"

He glanced down at his bare chest, frowning to see a trail of blood trickling down from where his own shot wound had pulled open again and as soon as he thought about it, the pain hit him and he winced. "Bugger!" he cursed, putting his hand up and pressing it, trying to stem the flow and ease the pain, but he knew it would be a hopeless task. "Hold your fire!" Jack ordered as they approached the ship.

"We need help with Oliver," Matthias called to those on deck and a board with straps was quickly lowered down with several of the crew peering over the sides to see what had happened.

"Man th'bloody ship!" Jack snapped, angry with the gawping. "Celia, can you climb up th'ladder?"

"I-I'll try," she nodded, standing and gathering her skirts and placing a tentative foot on the first rung of the rope ladder.

"Sorry, luv, but yer need ter go a little faster than that," Jack urged. "I'll be right behind you…"

"Can you climb?" she fretted, glancing over her shoulder at him. "You don't want to injure it further."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, giving her a peck on the cheek before she turned back to the ladder. "Off yer go…" Jack waited until she was halfway up before gritting his teeth and grasping the side of the ladder, hauling himself up more by determination than strength, breathing a sigh of relief as he reached the rail and swung over to stand on the deck. "Everyone on board?" he asked Joshamee Gibbs as the portly man approached him.

"Aye, all accounted for," the quartermaster nodded. "We've not lost one, and hopefully we _won't_ lose one," he sighed as Oliver Fernan came into view, strapped to the board. "Get Celia to look at your shoulder, then she can help Matthias with Mouse, eh?" he suggested.

"All right," Jack conceeded, acknowledging to himself that it was more to do with wanting her attentions focused on him rather than the Irishman, than any concern he had for his own wound. "You have command fer a few more minutes - yer don't need me ter tell you ter get us th'hell out of here…"

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs nodded, turning and barking orders, wanting to be as far away from Saint Georges as possible and grateful for the fact that it was a wide bay rather than a harbour, making their escape a lot easier. '_Unless they have a flotilla up the coast_,' he thought darkly to himself.

"Celia," Jack called. "My cabin." He strode across the deck, pushing open his cabin door and holding it for her before making his way to his chair, sinking gratefully into it, watching as the young woman came in, pale faced and shaking. "That was close," he chuckled, wincing as his shoulder jarred.

"Y-yes," she stammered, hurrying to the side cabin and fetching the pitcher of water. Celia started to wash the blood from his chest and around the wound with trembling hands and she bit her lip as tears started to well in her eyes.

"You all right, luv?"

"Y-yes… no!" she exploded. "How many times do you get injured?" Celia demanded, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "How many times will I have to worry and fret and tend you all?"

"Ah… does that mean you care about us - _me_?" Jack enquired, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You were wishin' away th'next five an' a half months earlier, an' now you're worried fer us…"

"You're still men, still human beings, even if you are despicable pirates!" she spat, throwing the rag into the pitcher in anger. "Damn you!" Celia cried, fleeing into the side cabin and wishing it had a lockable door on it. "Leave me alone," she sniffed, hearing his boots walking across the cabin.

"Hey…" Jack soothed, winding his good arm around her shoulder. "It's all right, luv."

"No, it's not," she argued, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. "I thought we were going to be killed - that _you_ were going to be killed. I've watched you slay men today - I've never seen anyone die, not violently, at least, and I feel sick to my stomach. And yes, damn your eyes, I _do_ care!"

"If I'd realised everything would go pear-shaped…" he began.

"You'd have done what? Not sent the men? I doubt that," Celia snorted derisively. "Not taken me? I wish you hadn't…" She sank back against the bulkwark, closing her eyes and exhaling deeply. "I'd better go and see if Matthias wants my help."

"He can manage a while longer," Jack cajoled. "B'sides, I need this dressin' again," he shrugged, looking down at his bleeding shoulder.

"Come on then," Celia sighed, allowing Jack to lead her back into the main cabin, and picking up the bloodied rag and washing his wound once more, trying to be as dispassionate as she could, and then patched him up, winding long strips of cloth around his chest to keep the dressing in place.

"Ta, luv," Jack smiled. "You all right, now?"

"Fine," she replied in a tone that suggested otherwise. "If you'll excuse me…"

Jack watched her leave the cabin, a frown creasing his brow and he stroked his braids absently as he wondered what to do to make her feel better. '_Later_', he thought to himself. '_We haven't left Saint Georges, yet_.' He stood and walked from the cabin, his mind still on the young girl as he stepped on to the main deck, shaking himself in an effort to concentrate on the matter in hand. "Any problems, Gibbs?"

"None so far, Captain," the older man replied. "There is a ship coming out of the harbour, but they don't have a cat's chance in hell of catching us."

"Good," Jack nodded. "Mouse?"

"Dunno yet," Joshamee shrugged. "Been too busy gettin us away."

"All right. Thank you , Mister Gibbs." Jack strode to the quarterdeck and took out his spyglass, focusing on the ship attempting to give chase. "Mister Burford, head north-northeast."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," the helmsman grinned, knowing that they would be going to the Isla de Muerta.

…


	20. Chapter 20

Usual disclaimers – life ain't fair!

Welcome back to affnet, although as I type this, it is down again!

With thanks for the reviews and to Kat for editing it and Hils for being Hils!

…

**Chapter Twenty**

"Matthias?" Celia enquired hesitantly as she hovered outside the sick quarters. "Can I come in?"

"Course yer can," the ship's doctor beckoned. "I reckon th'sight of ya will do this one good, at least!"

Celia was grateful it was gloomy enough in the cabin to hide her blushes as she walked over to the low bunk on which Oliver was laid out. "How is he?"

"I'll live, apparently," came his Irish brogue and Oliver turned his head to look at her, a smile on his face.

"It looks worse than it is," Matthias informed her. "But no heavy liftin' fer a while."

"Oh good! Remind me ter get stabbed more often!" the Irishman quipped, winking at the young girl hovering over him. "Is th'cap'n all right?"

"Yes," Celia nodded. "He's just pulled the skin open, that's all."

"That's all?" Jack snorted as he entered the cabin. "It hurts like buggery."

"Tell us about it," Oliver sympathised. "Thanks fer comin' fer me, Cap'n." He struggled to rise on the bunk, only to be held down by two pairs of hands belonging to Celia and Matthias and he sank back, wincing from the pain reverberating around his body.

"I wasn't about ter leave you there," Jack stated. "Some bloody soft pirate I am, eh?" he chuckled.

"It's why yer th'best," Matthias observed. "Th'cap'n has more nous an' integrity in his little finger than any other captain I've ever served under," he told Celia.

"Now I know why I give yer so much treasure - so you can say nice things about me!" Jack laughed. "So, Mouse, you'll live then?"

"Aye, so th'good doctor tells me," he mumbled, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion started to overtake him.

"Time we left," Jack mused, taking Celia by the arm and leading her from the cabin. "Saint Martha?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. She is the saint of housewives amongst other things," the former novice told him. "But why her image was on that grave, I have no idea."

"I wonder if there's a Saint Martha around?" he pondered, stroking his braids.

"_Jack_! It means nothing - it doesn't lead to his treasure," Celia argued, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You're taking us on a wild goose chase."

"_I'm_ captain of this ship," Jack reminded her, curtly. "_I'll_ decide whether we're on a wild goose chase or not, savvy?"

"Fine!" she snapped, darting into the galley as they passed it to get away from him.

"Yer all right?" Tobias enquired as he pounded a lump of dough to within an inch of its life. "Cap'n windin' yer up again?"

"Do _you _think he's leading you all a merry dance over this so called treasure hunt?"

"I can see how some might think that," the burly cook nodded. "But us - th'crew? Nah, most of us have sailed fer too long under him, an' them that ain't would've heard all about him before they joined. Mark my words, somethin' will come out of this. Might not be what we expected, but somethin' will."

"That's what I was afraid you'd say," she sighed, half sitting on the edge of the trestle table.

"Look at it this way," Toby smiled, flashing his silver teeth. "We've got ter sail _somewhere_, might as well sail to… where _are _we sailin' to?"

"He's probably looking for a Saint Martha as we speak," she replied with a rueful smile.

"Hey! There's a Saint Marta in Colombia," the cook cried, slapping the dough down. "Go an' tell th'cap'n, there's a good girl."

"All right," Celia sighed heavily, gettin down from her perch and heading out of the galley. She peered her head around the sick quarters, smiling as she saw Oliver sleeping peacefully, then she made her way up the steps to the main deck, squinting as the setting sun caught her eye. "Ja… Captain," she called, as she shielded her eyes and spotted him at the bow. "Toby says there's a Saint Marta in Colombia," she informed him as she made her way along the deck towards him.

"Is there, now?" Jack grinned, exchanged glances with his quartermaster. "That isn't too far away now, is it?"

"Indeed not, Cap'n," the older man agreed. "There or…" he hesitated before speaking again. "Isla de Muerta?" he shuddered. In spite having been there many times since the defeat of Barbossa and his cursed crew, he still hated the place and was always thankful when he was back on board the _Pearl_ and sailing away from the dread isle.

The pirate captain pondered for a few minutes, weighing up which would be better before nodding his head, looking around in slight bewilderment at the nearby crew who had been waiting with baited breath. "Saint Marta," he declared.

…

Although Gibbs had declared the chasing ship would not catch them, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ were still busy for the rest of that day drawing out a bigger margin between the two ships and it was only when darkness fell and Jack had ordered all but the necessary lights to be doused, did they finally shake off their pursuers,

"Go on, Captain," the quartermaster urged as Gabriel Jennings softly called out the end of the first watch (midnight), and not sounding the bell thus giving away their position once again. "I'll take the ship."

"You sure?" Jack enquired wearily, rubbing his eyes. "Make certain…"

"Don't worry, they won't find us."

"I know," the captain of the pirate ship smiled. "Just make sure th'men keep a sharp eye, eh?"

"I will," Gibbs promised, clapping the younger man gently on the shoulder as he passed. "Goodnight, Jack."

Jack crept as quietly as he could into the cabin, peering in the dark as Celia had not lit any of the lanterns or candles. '_Good job I know th'way_,' he thought wryly, picking his way across to the side cabin.

"Jack?"

"Aye," he confirmed. "I didn't think yer'd be awake."

"I've been dozing," Celia admitted. "The stern seat isn't the most comfortable of places to sleep."

"Why are you there? Why didn't yer rig th'hammock?"

"I-I was too busy keeping watch of the other ship through the window and then realised that it was too dark to see what I was doing," she confessed, blushing at her silliness.

"Ah… you'd best come an' share th'bunk then," he chuckled lasciviously.

"N-no!" she stammered, not wanting to be in such close proximity to him. "I-I'll be f-fine…"

"What's th'matter, luv?" Jack purred, his voice getting closer to her. "Don't you trust yourself any more?"

"What do you m-mean?" Celia enquired, gulping audibly as she felt him stand in front of her. "H-how can you find your way in the dark?"

"Years an' years of practice, Ceila," he murmured, sitting beside her and leaning over.

"S-stop it."

"Stop what, I'm not doin' anythin'… _yet_. An' you haven't answered my question…"

"W-why wouldn't I trust myself?" she whispered, cursing herself for shivering as he blew on her neck.

"You know I heard you," he chuckled, moving closer still and nuzzling her hair. "Have you ever done that before?"

"Stop it!" Celia wailed, jumping to her feet and stumbling in the dark. "It's wrong…"

"If it's wrong - if what you did to yourself is wrong, why hasn't there been a thunderbolt from th'skies ter strike you down? Why hasn't every man on this ship been struck down fer their collective wickedness, eh?"

"Stop twisting things!" she pleaded, catching herself as she crashed against the table in the middle of the cabin.

"I'm not," Jack purred, standing and following her, using his ears to track where she was. "You _want_ me, Celia Hammond, an' I don't care how much yer deny it. Give yourself ter me an' then all this turmoil yer goin' through will end, eh?"

"To be replaced by turmoil of another kind!" she retorted, yelping as she stubbed her toe on the mizzenmast.

"Ah, so you admit you want me, then?"

"I admitted nothing!" she retorted, feeling her way around the mast and hoping to reach the door before he caught up with her.

"You said you'd have a different kind of turmoil, which means you're considerin' givin' yourself ter me… plus, you didn't deny that you want me…" Jack took one more step forward and reached out to where he judged the young woman to be, grabbing her hand triumphantly and pulling her back to him. "Did you?" he murmured, tracing her face with his hand until he found her mouth and then replaced his fingers with his lips, wrapping her in his arms to quell her struggle.

"Jack…" Celia croaked as she pulled away. "Please don't." She pushed against him in an effort to break free, but his grip was too strong and she sagged in his arms, sighing resignedly. "I-I can't…"

"Why?" he whispered, his breath hot on her face. "Just answer me this one thing - honestly. Do you want me?"

Celia swallowed several times, all that she had been taught about propriety fighting with the need and desire racing through her veins. "I… _Jack_…" she pleaded.

"It's just a simple yes or no," he urged softly, still holding on to her tightly.

"Simple!" she snorted ruefully. "If only…"

"It is…"

"I… can't. I'm scared," she gulped, trembling against him.

"There's nothin' ter be scared of," Jack told her. "I won't hurt you."

"I-I know y-you wouldn't, but…"

"I tell yer what, how about we go an' lie on th'bunk an' just touch each other, eh?"

"With our clothes on?"

"Heh! No," Jack chuckled, shaking his head at her. "Maybe if yer just touch me, then you won't be so scared, eh?"

"Jack - I can't! I truly can't!"

"Celia, luv…" he sighed, running his hand across his bandana.

"You don't get it, do you?" Celia cried, jerking away from him. "I had to touch _him_!" she spat. "I had to do things to him, I had to watch him and Syndony do _things_ and now you want me to do the same to you!"

"Bloody hell," Jack swore, mentally kicking himself for not realising, especially after the way she had reacted to the name of the tavern they had visited in Saint Georges. "I'm sorry, luv, I didn't…"

"_Think_? No, that's obvious," she sniffed, wiping away tears with a handkerchief. "It was horrible, Jack, and I… I don't want to sully the way I feel about you with having to do _that_."

'_Th'way she feels_…?' he thought, elation soaring through him but he sobered immediately, wanting to reassure her, but making a mental note to bring it up when the opportune moment arose. "Rape isn't just about a man penetratin' a woman," Jack replied gently, reaching out once more and drawing her to him, relieved when she did not pull away. "Rape is about a man forcin' a woman ter his will. Come on, we'll just lie, eh?" he urged, tugging at her.

"Naked?"

"Not if you don't want to, no."

"A-all right," Celia agreed hesitantly and found herself being lead carefully across the cabin.

"Is it that that's worryin' yer more than it being against what th'church believes in?" he asked as he felt his way in to the side cabin.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, swallowing when she realised where they were. "Not naked…?"

"Not naked," he sighed ruefully. "Although I've never touched yer when we _have_ been naked, have I?"

"No," the young woman agreed, biting her lip as he stopped by the bunk. "What do you want to do then?"

"You know what I want ter do!" Jack grinned, squeezing her hand as she stiffened. "Just hold yer, kiss yer, an' see what transpires from that, eh?"

"A-all right." Celia squealed as he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up on to the bunk, then climbed up himself, settling quickly and sliding an arm underneath her, his fingers curling around her ribs.

"Comfy?"

"Yes," she replied, having no choice but to snuggle against him due to the lack of room in the small bunk. She hesitantly stretched her own arm across him, praying that she would not touch where his shirt gaped open and breathing a sigh of relief when she felt his shoulder, but moving her hand rapidly when she remembered his wound.

"How about puttin' it there?" Jack suggested with a chuckle, taking her hand and putting it on his midriff, not so low down as to spook her but low enough for him to sigh blissfully. "What about a kiss, eh?" He did not wait for a reply but turned onto his side and kissed her, his tongue pushing into her open mouth and exploring it, probing deeper and more urgently as she responded beneath him, her arms winding around him and pulling him on top of her and her legs tangling with his. "Bloody hell, luv!" he panted, breaking away from her. "I thought you didn't want ter…"

"I-I got carried away," Celia admitted timidly, both scared and elated at how quickly she had lost control. "Jack - I don't know what to do!" she bewailed.

"Do you trust me?" he murmured, his tongue idly playing inside her ear.

"Y-yes… why?"

"Celia, do you _trust_ me?" Jack repeated, wishing there was some light in the cabin so he could see her face.

"Yes," she replied, more firmly.

"I want ter show you how pleasurable it can be. I won't force you or hurt you, but yer have ter trust me, all right?"

Celia shivered and bit her lip but found herself nodding in the dark. "All right," she agreed, bracing herself for what might be coming, and whimpering as he moved down her body and lifted her dress, tugging at her knickers until they were around her ankles. "J-Jack…?"

"Trust me," he muttered, wishing more than ever that he could see her as his hands ran up her legs until they reached the soft fuzz of hair at the top and he buried his face in it, his tongue licking and probing along her slit.

"_Jack_!" she cried, clutching the bedcovers as a white hot flame shot through her body. "N-n-no," she gasped, arching her back and writhing as his tongue thrust into her warm, moist womanhood while his fingers worked along her slit, caressing the nub and driving her almost insane with desire. "Oh… Lord…"

"It's not wrong," Jack rasped as he broke away from his ministrations for a moment before plunging back in, licking her more urgently as she moaned and squirmed, her panting getting more and more ragged until she cried out and her legs clamped his head as he drank her juices, her cries of passion mixing with the slurps from his mouth until she sagged back down against the bunk, breathing heavily from exersion and shock.

"Oh…" Celia gulped, the rest of her words being cut off by Jack's lips closing over hers and she started as she tasted herself on and in him.

"Nice?" he chuckled as he broke away to suck at her neck.

"Yes," she gasped, shifting as his teeth nipped at her skin, sending another wave of passion coursing through her. "Oh, yes… but…"

"We'll go at _your_ pace, savvy?" he murmured, his fingers working on the laces at the front of her dress. "We can still just touch, if that's what yer want eh?"

"Why? Why are you being so understanding?"

"You'd rather I wasn't?" Jack teased as he gave up in trying to undo her dress. "Toby was right when I said I love women so much that I can't understand a man who doesn't. It goes against everythin' that I am ter hurt a woman - even a whore."

"You're not really a pirate, are you?" Celia mused, subconsiously stroking his back. "Not _deep_ down."

"Heh! I suppose not," he agreed. "I'm not driven by th'same forces that turns other men ter piracy which is probably why I'm firstly, successful, an' secondly, still alive." He sighed heavily, glancing around in the dark. "Stay there, luv, I'm goin' ter fetch some light."

"Is that wise?" she fretted. "The other ship might…"

"It's worth th'risk," he assured her, kissing her deeply before climbing down from the bunk. "Celia…?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Don't fall asleep, eh?"

"Of course I won't," she giggled, feeling light headed and a little shaky. '_You've done it now_,' she thought to herself once she was alone, pulling her skirts back down again, having enough pride to want to preserve her modesty. '_There's no going back_…' Celia lay there for a few moments, willing herself to feel guilty but instead found that she was listening intently for Jack's return.

"Here we are," came his growl from the main cabin and Celia could see the flickering of the lantern against the bulwarks as he approached the side cabin. "Much better," he grinned, the light glinting on his gold teeth and making him look even more rougish than he already did to Celia's mind.

"Yes…" she agreed hesitantly, her nerve all but failing her now that she could see him. "A-are you sure it's safe?"

"Th'other ship won't be able ter catch us anyway," he shrugged, starting to strip out of his clothes until he noticed Celia watching him warily. "Still not naked?"

"D-do you mind?" Celia fretted, biting her lip. "I-I'm sorry…"

"That's all right," he sighed, smiling although deep down he was bitterly disappointed. "I'll keep me breeches on, eh?"

"Thank you, Jack," she replied, rewarding him with a sweet, relieved smile. "I will try…"

"I told you - at yer own pace," Jack interrupted, standing beside the bunk once he had divested himself of his shirt, boots and bandana. "Do you perhaps want ter take your dress off? Yer'll never straighten it out otherwise."

"Yes, I had better," Celia smiled, getting down from the bunk and continuing what Jack had started on her laces until the garment was loose enough to pull down and it pooled at her feet and she was left in only her undershift which she always slept in anyway. Celia bent to pick it up, unsurprised when Jack patted her bottom and then fondled it, his fingers reaching between her legs and brushing against her. "Jack…" she warned, her voice catching as a wave of desire washed over her.

"Just feelin' th'goods, darlin'," he chuckled throatily, pulling her to him as she straightened with the dress in her hands, and he buried his face in her neck. "Yer hair's getting' long," Jack mused as he brushed it aside in order to reach her skin which he nipped gently.

"S-stop," she gasped, arching her back and clutching the dress tightly as another throb pulsated deep in her womanhood.

"Yer sure you want me to?" he rasped, biting harder at her neck and making her gasp and groan.

"Y-yes…"

"Yer don't sound very certain," Jack teased, flitting his tongue across her ear lobe as he ran his hands down her body. "I can make you feel even better than before," he boasted, rubbing his hand along her slit, albeit through the material of her shift.

"Oh, Jack," she groaned, writhing in his arms. "P-please don't…"

"Why?" he whispered, his hot breath tickling her ear. "I think you want me to, really…"

"N-no… _please_, Jack."

"Why?" he demanded again, pulling away slightly and frowning at her behind her back.

"I… oh…" Celia sighed, throwing her hands up in exasperation and turning to face him. "If… _when_ I give myself to you, I want it to be a conscious decision rather than having my desire making the decision for me… does that make sense?"

Jack chuckled ruefully, a slow grin spreading across his face as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Perfect sense," he acknowledged, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. "Let's go ter bed, yeah?"

"Thank you," she smiled tearfully, wondering how a pirate would be more considerate and gentle than even her well-bred fiancée had been as she snuggled up to him, resting her head on his bare chest, lying in silence until sleep took her.

…

Celia opened her eyes, blinking in the strong morning light and turned over, mewling with disappointment when she found the other side of the bunk empty and cold - obviously having been vacated for some time. '_I'd better get up_,' she thought ruefully, clambering from the bunk and stretching luxuriously, wondering where the pirate captain was and soon finding her answer.

"Ah - you are alive, then?" came Jack's acerbic voice from within the main cabin and she poked her head around the door, blushing furiously as she saw not only Jack, but Joshamee Gibbs, Gabriel Jennings, Myles Burford and Oliver Fernan, all huddled around the table, studying a chart.

"Y-yes," she spluttered, backing quickly away, but not before she had caught the look of hurt and anger in the eyes of the tall Irishman.

"Mornin', Miss Celia," Gabriel called, more than a hint of amusement in his voice. "Did yer sleep well?"

"Jennings…" Jack growled, looking up from the chart and shooting a warning glance at his crewman.

"Sorry, Cap'n," he muttered, a smirk still twitching the corner of his lips.

"It's not me you should be apologisin' to…"

"Sorry, Miss Celia," Gabriel called towards the direction of the side cabin. "Forgive me m'manners."

"It's all right," Celia replied, as she tried to wash herself with the scant bit of water still left in the pitcher from the previous night before deciding that she would have to do and pulled on her yellow dress, wincing at the creases in it. '_I'm going to have to face them_,' she thought, biting her lip. '_And they know what happened last night… well, not **exactly** what happened, but enough… oh no!_'

"You comin' in or not?" Jack enquired from where he was standing in the doorway of the larger side cabin, his head cocked to one side as he watched her.

"I-I'll wait," she smiled weakly. "I don't want to interrupt."

"Never stopped yer before… you've got to face th'crew sometime," Jack reasoned. "Or is it just Fernan yer don't want ter face, I wonder?"

"_What_?" she gasped, wondering if he had found out about the kisses she and the helmsman had shared the other day but realising that he would most certainly not so jovial about it if he did.

"I know he likes you, an' I suspect yer like him. But not as much as you like _me_, eh?" he murmured, stepping closer to her and brushing his lips across hers.

"They'll see," she squeaked, backing away and trying to look over his shoulder.

"They've gone," he grinned, winding his arms around her and drawing her in to his arms. "_Do_ you like Mouse?" he asked, looking deep into her eyes. "Do you prefer him ter me?"

"_Jack_!" Celia cried, looking in horror at him. "Do you really think that I would have let you do what you did last night if I preferred Oliver?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "But I do know that he is married an' that you probably would consider givin' yourself ter him even less than you considered givin' yourself ter me. So, maybe I'm th'lesser of two evils, as it were, hmm?"

"How dare you!" she spat, slapping him. "I'm not some whore!"

"When did I say that you were?" Jack reasoned as he rubbed his cheek. "I just suggested that you maybe like Oliver but consider him out of bounds."

"But you're still suggesting that I'm prepared to give up my virtue, willy-nilly! Why? Just when I decide what I want to do, why do you do this? Have you decided that you don't want me but are too afraid to tell me?"

"No," he laughed, throwing his head back as he did so. "No, luv, I want yer more than ever. But I saw th'look on yer face when you saw Fernan in th'cabin, an' I saw th'look in his eyes…"

"What would you do if I said I preferred him?" Celia frowned, chewing her lip with worry and not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Ter be honest, I haven't really thought about it, most likely because I _know_ you prefer me, but if you said you wanted him…? Probably take what you still owe me from his purse an' wish yer both good luck as I left yer at th'next port of call."

"Oh…" she gulped, feeling both relieved and frightened by his reply.

"So…?

"So? Oh! I _do_ want you, Jack," she replied shyly, looking away from him and blushing, unused to discussing her deepest feelings. "I always did, if I'm honest with myself. I suppose things got a little… _complicated_."

"Complicated? How?" Jack mused, looking at her down his nose and frowning.

"I… erm… j-just that I wasn't certain at first," she gabbled as she realised that she nearly spilled the beans about the kiss.

"I see…" he nodded slowly and Celia had the horrible feeling that he saw only too well. "Come on then, young lady, or breakfast'll be all gone by th'time we get there!" He grabbed her hand and virtually dragged her across the deck before she had chance to protest and yanked open the cabin door, bounding out on to the main deck.

"I was just comin' ter tell yer that th'oats are ready," Elliot grinned as he almost collided with his captain at the top of the hatch. "An' Toby's in a right mood, an' all! Mornin' Celia," he beamed at the woman who was just a few years older than he was.

"Yer getting' a little familiar, Deane…" Jack mused, looking darkly at the young crewman.

"Ah, she's like th'sister I never had!" he chuckled, stepping onto the deck. "Nothin' ter fear from _me_, Cap'n," he said innocently, whistling as he went and winking broadly at Matthias Swain.

"Yer'll get yourself inter trouble one day, my lad," the ship's doctor hissed as Jack and Celia disappeared down the hatch. "An' I wouldn't be able ter patch yer up again, like as not."

"Ah, th'cap'n wouldn't hurt me," Elliot boasted as she started to climb the rigging. "It's someone else he needs ter worry about…"

"There - you've faced _some_ of th'crew," Jack announced as they walked along the dimly lit corridor, "an' yer survived."

"Yes, Jack," Celia sighed, shaking her head at him. "Although I hardly think just Elliot counts."

"Heh! Seriously, luv. If you get any snide remarks from _anyone_, I want ter know, savvy?"

"No," Celia stated firmly, shaking her head once more. "It's going to be something I will have to learn to live with - might as well start now."

"All right," Jack agreed, regarding her with a sideways glance.

"What?"

"Your attitude's changin' an' I admit ter being a little surprised by it… why?"

Celia closed her eyes, as she thought. "I don't know," she replied eventually, opening them again and glancing at the pirate captain, blushing as she saw the intensity of his stare. "I suppose I've started to realise that I can't be the same person I was when I came over here - that I couldn't be the same person I was when I left England, even if I had gone to the Virgin Isles as a missionary. It's a different way of life, a different outlook but it's taken me the best part of five months to realise it."

"Quicker than most," he quipped as they reached the mess and he lead her in to it, casting a quick glance around the men gathered there and frowning slightly as he saw Oliver turn his head away. '_Bugger_!' he thought to himself. '_I'm goin' ter have ter have another word with you, Fernan_…'

"I'd almost given up on yer," Toby sniped as he stomped into the mess and slammed two bowls down onto a trestle table. "It might be cold."

Jack raised his eyebrows at the departing figure of his cook and looked at Thomas Frazer questioningly.

"Lost his rum rations playing dice last night," the Scotman informed him with a shrug.

"Ah, that'll teach him ter gamble, then, won't it?" Jack stated firmly. Although he allowed the men to gamble small amounts of money or their rum rations, it was not something he entirely approved of, believing it to cause more trouble than it prevented.

"Cap'n, can I borrow Celia ter help patch th'spare topmast sail?" Jacob Sumner enquired.

Jack looked at the young woman who nodded resignedly, and he smiled sympathetically as he knew she hated the task but did it, largely without complaint. "Keep you occupied fer th'day," he chuckled as he tucked in to the lukewarm oats.

"When will we arrive in Saint Marta?" Celia enquired, pulling a face at the taste of the gruel but eating it nonetheless, knowing it was that or nothing of substance until supper.

"I reckon two or three days, eh Fernan?"

"Two or three days, aye," the helmsman echoed in a surly tone.

"Oh dear," Celia sighed quietly, glancing at Jack who was frowning at his bowl.

"So," Jack said loudly and cheerfully, deciding to ignore his crewman's mood. "You still think this is folly?"

"Yes," she replied, grateful of the distraction. "If I had any money, I would take a bet with you that nothing will come of this."

"You would, would yer…?" Jack learned in close, his lips pressing against her ear. "You don't just have ter bet with money, you know…" he growled, grinning with evil delight as he felt her shiver.

"What do you propose I bet with, Captain?" she enquired, quiet enough for the men nearby not to overhear and a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"We'll have ter see if we can come up with somethin' eh?" he chuckled, watching as Oliver Fernan limped from the mess as he favoured his wound, a dark look on his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, lady and gentlemen, I have a ship ter run. Catch yer later, luv."

"Yes," Celia nodded as she finished off the unappetising porridge.

"Ah, Gibbs - just th'man I want ter see," Jack said as he spotted the quartermaster ambling down the corridor. "I think there may be problems with Fernan…"

"Aye, there are," the older man sighed, shaking his head. "We've tried ter warn him but he's… well, he's got it bad for her."

"Well he'll just have ter not have anythin' fer her, will he?"

"Why don't you?" Gibbs retorted, holding a placating hand up to stop Jack's outburst. "He likes her every bit as much as you do, Jack. How would you feel if the tables were turned, eh?"

"Like killin' him," Jack nodded ruefully, seeing Gibbs' argument. "How do th'men feel about havin' her on board?"

"They're fine about it. There's ribald comments, as you'd expect, but Mouse, _and_ Butler aside, the men don't have any problem with her… or you," he stated, knowing what was _really_ on his captain's mind.

"Now I know why I won't let yer retire," Jack grinned, clapping the older man on the back. "Ta!"

"It's a pleasure," Gibbs chuckled. "And yes, I'll have _another_ quiet word with Mouse."

…


	21. Chapter 21

Usual disclaimers

With thanks to Kat for editing and Hils for being a pain in the you-know-where! She's not really ;)

A few more reviews would be nice…

…

Chapter Twenty one 

Celia leaned against the stern rail, having finished her chores some time ago and she was now enjoying watching the changing colours of the sky as the sun sank lower on the horizon, glad of the peace and quiet to collect her thoughts. '_If I give myself to him, I'll be damned to hell… I'm damned to hell anyway_,' she sighed. '_I never could **quite** master being pious and chaste_.' Celia thought back to her time in the convent when she struggled to adapt to a live of obedience and purity. Although she had never been anything but a good and dutiful daughter, she had still been allowed more freedom of thought by her parents and they had enjoyed many discussions about what was happening in the village and country as a whole, even if she had rarely ventured into the outside world. She looked around as she heard someone approach and smiled at Jack as he weaved and swayed his way over to her.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"It is," she agreed, automatically snuggling into his embrace. "I can't believe it's the middle of February. Winter was never like this back home."

"Indeed not, but you wait fer th'hurricane season…"

"I've already encountered one," she replied sadly, thinking of Beth Ashby who had perished when the ship they had been sailing on got hit by a storm.

"Aye, I'd forgotten that," he sympathised, hugging her. "Come on, let's go an' have supper, eh?"

"All right," Celia agreed, smiling shyly as he slipped his hand in hers and lead the way across the quarterdeck and down the steps. "Oh! In the cabin?" she questioned when Jack lead her to the main cabin doors and not the hatch as she expected.

"Aye, any objections?"

"No - just surprised, that's all." Celia smiled to herself when she remembered the time, not so long ago, when she was too afraid to eat with the men in the mess, and now she thought nothing of it.

"That's good." Jack pushed open the door and allowed her in first, for once, resisting the urge to pat or fondle her bottom.

"Jack…?" She turned and faced him, a hesitant smile on her lips. "I-I… I'd like to… you know… tonight."

Jack mentally congratulated himself on managing to keep from leaping in the air for joy and instead just allowed a grin to creep across his face. "You sure?"

"Yes," she stated firmly. "It's getting harder and harder to resist your advances, and as I said before, I would rather give myself to you rationally than let my emotions take over and do something I may regret."

"And Fernan?"

"I like Oliver," she sighed, "but not in the way I like _you_. I don't know whether my feelings for you are right or wrong, but I know I don't have the same feeling for him."

"Pleased ter hear it," Jack murmured, stepping towards her and wrapping her hand, which he still held, around his back, swearing quietly as a knock sounded on the door.

"Supper, Cap'n," came Tobias' voice from the other side. "An' right tasty it is too," he chuckled as he pushed open the door without being beckoned, stopping as he saw the closeness of the two occupants. "Ah… umm… sorry…"

"Bring it in," Jack sighed, moving away from Celia and cursing a missed opportunity. "Do yer want ter change?" he asked her.

"All right," she agreed, scurrying to the side cabin and yanking the drapes across, her heart pounding and her face glowing.

"Sorry, Cap'n," the burly cook winced as he set the tray down. "I should've waited…"

"Aye," Jack sighed ruefully, shrugging his shoulders. "Yer'll know next time, eh?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Toby replied, looking around as Elliot appeared with a second tray and a jug of wine. "I'll wait..." He nodded his head at his younger crewmate, indicating it was time for them to depart, and Jack stood in the middle of his cabin, deep in thought.

"C-could you tie my laces?" Celia asked as she nervously peered around the side cabin doorway, her earlier resolve fast disappearing. She crossed the cabin and turned, allowing Jack access to her back and shivered at the nearness of him, the feel of his warm breath on her skin.

"You look gorgeous," he murmured, pleased that she had put on the dark red silk gown which he had given her in Saint Georges, and he took his time in pulling and fasting the cords, chasing small butterfly kisses across her shoulders and smiling as she mewled with pleasure.

"Thank you," she replied shyly.

"Come on," Jack chivvied, leading her to the table, knowing that if he was not careful, he would take her there and then and he did not want to do that. He wanted to make her first time as special as he could. "Let's not waste th'food."

"It smells delicious," she smiled up at him as he seated her and then went to sit opposite in his chair.

"Aye, Toby's a damn fine cook," he grinned as he served out the food from the platter and on to two petwer plates, handing one to Celia before pouring two goblets of wine. "Even if his sense of timing's lousy…"

"Please, not too much," she begged, looking in alarm at the amount he decanted into her beaker.

"You want it watered?" he offered with a grin, taking a large swig of the good wine and licking his lips appreciatively.

"No. I'll just drink it slowly," she replied, shaking her head at him with the ghost of a smile hovering on her lips. If she was going to lose her virginity that night, she wanted to at least remember it.

"Did you want to leave th'veil? Was comin' out here an excuse ter get away?" Jack enquired,watching her carefully over the rim of his goblet. Although he knew the young woman fairly well now, there was still so much going on in her mind that he could not fathom, and her request that he have her that night only served to add to his confusion.

"I don't know," Celia admitted with a shrug, cutting up a piece of meat but not eating it. "My parents, especially my mother, were horrified when I announced I would be joining a convent. They said I was _marrying in haste_!" she snorted. "I suppose they were right. I couldn't face telling them that I had maybe made the wrong decision and so yes, I suppose I did use this an a legitimate excuse to leave the veil." Celia took another sip of the wine, careful not to gulp it down. "Nothing in my life ever goes as I had planned it," she smiled sadly, finally placing the meat into her mouth and chewing it.

"Same here," Jack chuckled wryly, waving his fork about as he talked. "I was goin' ter take over my father's business an' marry Isabel once her husband died," he told her. "Look where I am now!"

"He might not have died for years," Celia frowned, hoping he was not going to admit to a plot to kill the husband of his former lover.

"He was much older than she was, an' in ill health. Trouble was, he was also a very distant cousin ter th'King, an' when he found out about us, threatened ter use his influence ter ruin my father."

"Why didn't you set up your own merchant business elsewhere?"

"It takes money, luv, an' that was somethin' I didn't have at th'time. I could have done after I left Weymouth in such a hurry with th'authorities on my tail - I could have gone ter Ireland or maybe even th'continent. But when you've got riches beyond yer wildest dreams, when you've made your wealth by ill gotten gains, it's hard ter be straight again, savvy? It's hard ter go back to toilin' night an' day fer relatively little reward."

"But your family were well off, weren't they?"

"Aye, by most people's standards, we were well off - I was educated at one of th'best schools in th'country an' then trained as a cartographer. But what I made through smugglin'… it was more than my father an' his father b'fore him had made in their lifetimes." Jack drained his wine and poured himself another, his mind still back in the time when he was younger. "It might have been an easier life, though," he mused, more to himself than his companion. "At least I wouldn't have had th'noose ter worry about."

"So you regret your life now?" Celia asked, leaning forwards as he held her full attention.

"Heh! I don't know about that," he grinned. "But it'd be nice ter go into any port I fancied whenever I fancied…"

"You'd be bored!" she snorted. "You'd miss the excitement and everybody lauding the great and infamous _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, pirate extraordinaire!"

"Ah, Celia, luv… yer know me too well," Jack chuckled, shaking his head ruefully.

"As I fear you know me," the young woman sighed.

"What's wrong with me knowin' you?" he mused as he ate. "It's not so bad is it?"

"You're the one who says it's good to have an air of mystery," she teased, as she finally tucked into her food.

"Believe me, luv," he mumbled, his mouth full, "you have my complete an' undivided attention without needin' ter be mysterious."

"Isn't that a little dangerous?" Celia chuckled, a glint of merriment dancing in her eyes as she regarded him.

"How so?" Jack enquired, giving her the same intense scrutiny that she was giving him and enjoying the fact that she didn't break eye contact this time around.

"If you're thinking about me all of the time, how can you concentrate on being a good captain?" she pondered, an innocent smile playing on her lips, belied only by the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"I _can_ concentrate on more than one thing at a time, young lady," Jack growled with a grin, standing and walking slowly around the table, his smile broadening as he noticed her gulp and shift in her seat. "Would you like me ter show you…?"

"I… erm…" Celia stammered, licking her dry lips with an equally dry tongue.

"You wanted this, remember?" Jack purred in her ear, making her shiver violently. '_Please don't let her back out_,' he prayed silently as he brushed his lips against her skin and hitched the scant bit of material that lay on her shoulders down her arms, leaving her shoulders bare.

"I-I know," she replied timidly. "I-it's just… I'm _scared_."

"Nothin' ter be scared of," he assured her. "I won't hurry you an' I _certainly _won't force you, savvy?"

"I-I know… b-but…" she closed her eyes and moaned out loud as Jack's lips replaced his fingers on her shoulder and suckled gently on her soft skin, his hands holding her arms in a gentle grip. "Oh, Jack," she breathed, leaning against him and tangling her hand in his hair.

"Stand up," he rasped as he broke away, pulling her to her feet and turning her around so she faced him. Jack took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself before snaking his arms around her waist and brushing his lips against hers, his tongue running over her teeth. "You have no idea how much I want you, do you?"

"N-no," Celia replied, wanting to kiss his neck and the part of his chest exposed by his open shirt, but being too afraid to. "W-will it hurt?"

"It may hurt a little th'first time," Jack explained, cupping her face and stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. "But I'll be as gentle as I can, savvy? Do you know what ter expect?"

"Y-yes," she gulped, tears springing to her eyes. "_H-him_ and Syndony m-made m-me watch them," she shuddered, still unable to say the name of the pirate who had captured and sold her. "It w-was…"

"You poor luv," Jack murmured, holding her close. "No wonder yer scared." He broke away again and looked her in the eyes. "I swear it won't be like that - I'll love you, not ravish you, savvy?

"T-thank you," Celia replied shakily, wiping a stray tear that was trickling down her cheek. "Will y-you do it now, please?"

"Let's go an' get ourselves comfy, eh?" he smiled wolfishly as he took her hand and lead her to the side cabin, turning to face her once more as they reached the bunk. "Thank you fer dressin' up," Jack murmured, reaching for the laces at the back of the gown and tugging at them.

"I-it's a pleasure…" Celia closed her eyes as Jack pulled the garment and her underslip down, revealing her breasts and gasped as his mouth closed over a nipple whilst his thumb caressed the other, sending flames raging through her body. "L-Lord…" she panted, her body trembling as she tried to keep some semblance of control.

'_Bloody hell_,' Jack thought as he savoured the feel of her hard bud beneath his tongue and her body arching into his. '_I'm never goin' ter last th'course_.'

"T-the c-crew will h-hear," she gulped, her hands flailing to the side as she wondered what to do with them.

"No they won't," Jack muttered, breaking from his ministrations to slide his hands down inside her dress, groaning softly as she bucked her hips. "I'll make sure they don't hear." He pulled the dress and undershift hard, uncaring whether they ripped or not, until they fell in a heap at her feet, her knickers following suit soon after until she stood before him, naked. "Beautiful," he murmured, capturing her lips with his and drawing the young woman into a searing kiss which left them both panting and breathless. "D'you still trust me?"

"Y-yes…" Celia gasped as she felt his fingers probe between her legs, brushing and stroking and she parted them further to allow him better access and bucked her hips in time with his rubbing. "J-Jack…"

"Still trust me?"

"Mmm," was the only sound she could make as desire coursed through her body once more, intensifying as his fingers gently pushed their way inside her and started thrusting slowly. "Oh… L-Lord…" she panted, writhing in his embrace as he drove harder, deeper into her. "S-stop… please, stop," Celia begged, sagging once he withdrew his fingers and looking at the pirate with wide eyed panic. "T-that is…" she gulped, pulling away from him, a dismayed look on her face. "I-is t-that normal?"

"Aye. Very, very normal."

"Oh! Is… I don't want to… oh, Lord," she cried, covering her face with her hands. "I-I can't…"

"Can't what?" the pirate captain asked gently, prising her hands away and lifting her chin once more. "I won't make you do anythin' ter me, savvy?"

"Even… _that_," she croaked horsely, glancing down at his groin and Jack cursed himself for forgetting.

"Th'bastard!" he spat, hugging her and stoking her smooth back. "I certainly won't be makin' yer do that, at least not until you're more experienced, an' then only if you want to," he assured her, wishing that he could have done all this when he had first met her, before Davy Stockton had had a chance to traumatise the young woman, but also acknowledging to himself that he probably wouldn't have been so considerate of her feelings back then, before he'd had a chance to get to know her - care about her. "Undress me," Jack urged. "An' we'll lie on th'bunk a while, touchin' an' holdin', eh?"

"Are you sure?" she asked, wide eyed. "I-I don't want to… disappoint you."

"Celia, luv, you _could_ never disappoint me." Jack expertly untied his sword belt and then his sash, throwing them in the corner of the side cabin, out of the way. "Undress me an' that way you can go at yer own pace an' touch what you want ter touch."

"What I want to touch…?" Celia repeated uneasily.

"Aye," he grinned salaciously. "Nowhere is out of bounds, savvy?" He took her hands and placed them on his chest, pulling his shirt open a little more as he did.

She frowned slightly before plucking up enough courage to start on the few shirt buttons that were done up and then slipped her hands inside, glancing worriedly at him as she encountered his nipples. "D-do I do what you did?"

"If yer like. Do what feels natural."

"I don't _know_ what feels natural," Celia sighed, pulling his shirt past his shoulders and gulping audibly as she moved towards his nipple, tentatively poking her tongue out and licking it like a puppy would lick a child's hand before covering it with her mouth and sucking on it, surprised at the feeling of yearning that rushed through her as she did.

"S-sweet… mother…" Jack gasped, holding her head in place and cupping her buttock with his free hand, resisting the urge to explore her womanhood once more. He knew that there would be time enough for that later, when she felt more relaxed and at ease. He closed his eyes in bliss as her hands roamed across his back and slipped down the waist of his breeches.

"Oh!" Celia gasped when she broke from the semi trance she had been in and realised where her hands were, snatching them back out as if they had been scalded. "Oh, dear," she sighed dejectedly. "I'm not very good at this…"

"You will be," Jack soothed. "Just take yer time an' remember _nothin_' is wrong, savvy?"

"It's easy for you to say," she smiled, her timid hands going to the laces of his breeches. "I can't imagine you _ever _having been innocent." Celia steeled herself before slowly untying the cord, unaware of the effect her actions was having on the pirate until he moaned out loud as her fingers lightly brushed against his throbbing manhood.

"W-when I was born…" he rasped, his eyes still closed and his head tilted back as molten desire coursed through his body in place of blood. "That was th'only time I was innocent."

"I can believe it," Celia chuckled, the awareness of just how much she affected him emboldening her and she pulled his breeches down past his hips, her courage then completely failing as his pulsating member was freed of the constraint of the breeches and brushed against her hip, making her gasp and back away.

"Meet my not so little friend," Jack grinned, opening his eyes and looking at her. "An' yes it _will_ fit inside you," he assured her, anticipating her fear. He took her hand and guided it to his manhood, stroking her fingertips along his length and enjoying her reaction as she watched it move and jerk, horror and awe written on her features in equal measure. "Hold it," he whispered hoarsely, shuddering as her hand closed around him and instantly began pumping.

"L-like that?" she gulped, although the look on his face spoke volumes.

"Oh… yes…"

Celia concentrated on pleasuring Jack, relaxing as she built a rhythm in time to the thrust of his hips and she found she was enjoying it once more, enjoying having him in her hands and having his emotions in her grasp, figuratively speaking. She gave a muffled shriek as his hand suddenly seized her head and he drew her into a fierce kiss, and at the same time, Celia could feel warm, sticky liquid shooting against her belly and trickling down her hand, then his manhood started to soften and go limp.

"You can let go now," he gasped, leaning his head against her shoulder, panting hard.

"Did I do that all right?"

"Beautifully," he grinned, nuzzling her neck. "Come on, let's get on th'bunk. Don't worry," he added as she stiffened in his arms. "I can't have you fer a few minutes yet - not until I've had chance ter recover."

"All right," Celia agreed, climbing up first and blushing as he patted her bare bottom. "You really do have a thing for my derriere, don't you?"

"Aye," Jack grinned, leaning over and kissing her once more, his hand cupping her breast and gently kneading it, while he pressed his body into her, grinding his thigh against the fuzz of hair between her legs and grinning in the kiss as she started to respond. "Like that, hmm?" he mumbled, not quite breaking contact with her mouth.

"Mmm," she agreed, nodding her head and parting her legs, groaning as he pressed harder against her and Celia rubbed herself along his thigh. "I-I think I want you now," she gulped.

"Good job I'm ready then, eh?" Jack murmured, moving so he covered her body with his. "I'll take it nice an' slow, I promise."

"But I want you _now_!" Celia demanded, bucking her hips, "_Please_, Jack."

"If I take you hard, it'll hurt, an' I'm not goin' ter hurt you." He guided himself to her entrance and gently pushed the tip of his erection inside her, stopping as she tensed up, then inched upwards until she gasped and tightened against him. "All right," he soothed, knowing that he had reached the point of no return for her. "How about I stay here a while, until yer get used ter me there, eh?" Jack smiled and kissed her again, exploring her mouth with his tongue until he felt her completely relax and then pushed his length fully inside her, stifling the cry of pain with his mouth. "It's all right, luv…"

"I-it hurts," she whimpered, looking at him with fear in her eyes. Celia did not know how it would feel to have him inside of her but she was not sure it would feel like this. She felt as if he was inside the whole of her body and fought the urge to push him off, to scream at him to get off her and leave her alone. But she knew it was too late - that her virginity was no longer intact.

"I told you - it won't hurt fer long, an' have I ever lied ter you?"

"I-I don't know… have you?"

"Never," he stated firmly, slowly drawing his length back down her moist tunnel before easing it back in again, taking it very slowly until the young woman finally relaxed her grip on him and started to move her hips in time with his thrusts and only then did Jack push harder, deeper into her womanhood, the tightness of her tunnel making him almost insane with desire and it took all of his self control not to pound into her as he so desperately wanted to do. "Put yer legs across my back," he rasped as the tip of his tongue played inside her ear.

"All right," she panted, doing as she was bid and shifting beneath him uncomfortably as he seemed to go even deeper inside. Celia held onto Jack and began to respond to his motion and she recognised the now familiar build up to losing control, to letting her desire have free reign over her body for a few moments and she clung to him harder, burying her face in his neck and biting him as her longing increased. "J-Jack…" she gasped, her whole body tensing and then flying free as waves of passion crashed over her, engulfing her mind and body.

Jack closed his eyes as he felt her climax pulsate against his manhood, urging himself to hold on for just a bit more, until he could bear it no longer and released his seed deep inside her, pushing harder with each spurt until he was fully spent. "Bloody hell," he groaned, withdrawing slowly from her and rolling onto his side, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "You're mine now," he murmured with a smile.

"Y-yes… are you mine?" she asked, turning her head and looking at him.

"I always was, Celia, luv. I always was…"

…

Celia half woke, wondering why everything seemed different until the memories of the previous night came flooding back and she jumped awake with a start.

"Mornin', luv…"

"Morning, Jack," she replied, turning over and facing him, unsure as to where she now stood, or lay, as the case was.

"I won't ask if yer slept well, 'cause I know you did," he grinned, reaching over and kissing her.

"Yes, I did," she admitted when they parted and she snuggled into the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest, relief flooding through her. She had been half afraid that he would not be interested in her any longer. "Did you?"

"Like a babe in yer arms," he chuckled, stroking her back absently. "Good job too, I need ter gather my strength again after last night."

"Old man," Celia teased, shrieking as he loomed over her, a look of mock indignation on his face.

"Old man? _Old man_! I'll give you old man, missy," he growled playfully. "I'll give you punishment fer insubordination while I'm there, too."

"You will?" she gasped, a picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"Aye," Jack rumbled, sliding his hand beneath her and turning her over onto her front and slapping her backside gently.

"No!" Celia squealed, kicking her legs. "No… stop it!" she gasped, startled to find herself becoming aroused. "Jack…"

"Yes?" he whispered huskily as he lay on top of her and pressed his erection between her legs. "Don't you like your punishment?"

"Yes…" Celia croaked, moaning as Jack eased himself into her, half musing to herself how quickly she had become accustomed to having him filling her. "P-please…"

"With pleasure," he rasped as he lost himself to her body once more.

…

"Bloody hell!" Elliot sniggered, nudging Gabriel Jennings next to him as Jack finally emerged from his cabin some two hours after sunrise. "I guess he's had her now."

"I dread ter see th'mood Mouse'll be in," his mate fretted. "Hell'll break loose if he sees th'captain's smirk."

"I wonder how long it'll be before he tires of her?" Adam Butler enquired with a sneer. "Maybe we'll get a go…" The rest of his words were cut off by Elliot's hand around his throat and Gabriel's dagger waving in his face.

"One more word like that…" the younger man warned.

"Deane, Jennings - what the hell are you playing at?" Joshamee Gibbs barked, spotting the altercation as he emerged from a hatch.

"Nothin', Mister Gibbs," Gabriel replied, a false smile on his face as he turned to face his quartermaster. "Just havin' a bit of fun, like."

"Doesn't look much like fun ter me," Jack put in as he approached them. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothin', Cap'n," Elliot replied, finally letting go of Butler who rubbed his neck gingerly.

"Last chance…" Jack warned, his face dark with anger. "Men don't get half-throttled with daggers in their faces fer fun. What's goin' on?" he demanded again, being met with silence this time around. "Right, to th'brig, both of you."

"But, Cap'n!" Gabriel protested.

"Do not question me!" Jack countered. "Unless yer want ter feel th'lash as well?"

"No, Cap'n," both men mumbled, shooting dark looks at Adam Butler as they passed him, escorted by their quartermaster.

"Yer've had it," Elliot hissed, drawing his finger across his throat out of the sight of his two superiors.

"Well done," Jacob Sumner sighed, shaking his head at Butler who looked affronted.

"What th'fuck have I done?" he whined. "I'm th'one who they turned on."

"After yo made comments about Miss Celia," Noah pointed out. "An' then got them into trouble for defendin' her."

"Ain't no-one on th'fuckin' ship got a sense of humour?" the indignant crewman grumbled as he pushed passed the men and started to climb the rigging. "Fuckin' uptight load of tarts, that's what yer all are."

"_Mister _Butler!" Jack bellowed as he made his way to the quarterdeck. "You'll be joinin' Messers Jennings an' Deane if yer not careful, an' I might see fit ter lock yer all in th'same cell, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Adam Butler griped. "_Savvy_, Captain," he mocked quietly as he reached the crows nest.

"Sumner," Jack beckoned, and waited as his crewman walked up the quarterdeck steps. "What was that about?"

"Dunno," Jacob evaded. "I didn't catch th'start of it. But yer know Butler - th'biggest wind up merchant goin'."

"Hmm," Jack mused thoughtfully. "All right, thank you," he nodded, dismissing Jacob once more and looking up at the crows nest. '_I'm watching you_,' he thought darkly, hoping that he was not going to have trouble with another crewman.

…

'_I must go out_… _I can't_…' The argument raged inside Celia's head for a few minutes as she tried vainly to pluck up the courage to leave the comfort of the cabin. '_They know what happened - I can't face them. You've got to sometime…_' Celia sighed heavily and padded barefoot to the door, adjusting her shirt to ensure she was not indecent, then reached for the door handle with a worried frown. "Stop being silly!" she chided herself, taking a deep breath and yanking the door open.

"Mornin' Miss Celia," Noah beamed, his teeth flashing brilliantly against his dark skin as he swabbed the deck outside the cabin door.

"G-good morning, Noah," she stammered, smiling shyly at the former slave. "Jacob," she acknowledged as the other crewman came into view. "Have y-you seen Mister Gibbs?"

"He's busy," came Jack's voice from above her. "So you can come an' keep me company fer a while."

"Oh… all right." Celia gulped nervously as she approached the quarterdeck steps, knowing that all the men on the decks and in the rigging would be watching her and their captain. "I-I believe he has some sewing for me to do."

"He won't be long. He has some ship's business ter attend." Jack watched with a saucy half smile as his lover made her way over to him, noting the worried look in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, aware of Myles Burford at the helm.

"N-nothing," she replied, eyes downcast. "I just feel that everyone is watching me… no - I _know_ that everyone is watching me."

"Th'novelty'll wear off," Jack informed her with a smile. "But don't take any cheek from them," he warned. "Savvy?"

"I can't keep running to you all the time," Celia protested. "I'll be all right, I just feel… strange."

"Nice strange or not nice strange?"

"Nice… I think. No! I don't mean it like that!" she burst out, hastily trying to recover the gaffe. "I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Jack chuckled. "Here's Gibbs now. I'll go an' get us some food from Pellew - we need ter build out strength up again!" he winked, laughing out loud as he passed his quartermaster who gave him an outraged look.

"Joshamee," Celia smiled hesitantly, trying hard not to blush and failing miserably. "Do you have some sewing?"

"Yes, pet," the older man smiled sadly, cursing his captain for soiling her innocence. "Peter!" he called as he spotted the ship's boy. "Go and fetch the sack of make and mend I have in my cabin."

"Aye, Mister Gibbs," the lad grinned, disappearing back down the hatch he had just come up.

"Are you all right?" Gibbs asked Celia, turning his attention back to her. "You didn't have to…"

"I chose to," she informed him, glancing at Myles and wishing they weren't so close to him that he could overhear. "I _wanted_ to, Mister Gibbs, and I'm sorry if that disappoints you."

"It's not for me to judge…" he began.

"But you are!" Celia cried. "You're a pirate and yet you are damning me for giving myself to Jack. I never thought of you as a hypocrite, Joshamee."

"I… erm…" he stuttered, looking askance. "I'm sorry," he sighed eventually. "You're right. It's just that… there are very few innocents left over here and I wanted to… _protect_ you, I suppose."

"Joshamee," Celia smiled, reaching over and kissing the portly man on the cheek. "Just how innocent do you think I was after living with Aggie and Giselle and then being held on _his_ ship for two weeks? I know you mean well, but I am truly all right, savvy?" she chuckled, glancing at Jack as he reached the top of the quaterdeck steps with two plates in his hands.

"You quoting me?" he mused, looking suspiciously at her with his head tilted to one side.

"Yes," she laughed, taking a plate off him and blushing further as her stomach growled.

"Well get it down yer," Jack chivvied, already tucking into his plate of cold meat and leavened bread. He frowned as the watch bell sounded and realised with a lurch that the change of watch was due and that Oliver would be taking over the helm. "Why don't we take this inside?" he suggested, hoping to get her out of his helmsman's sight before he arrived and sending thanks that the Irishman was late for once.

"Why?" Celia enquired with a full mouth. "I prefer to sew outside."

"But it'll be really hot today. Come on…" Jack groaned inwardly as the tall crewman emerged from the hatch and made his way to the steps, looking first at him and then at Celia, his face a mask of fury.

"Sorry I'm late, Myles," Oliver apologised through gritted teeth as he reached the helm, avoiding everybody's eyes. "I'll work over at th'end of th'shift."

"No need, mate," Myles told him, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yer've covered fer me often enough."

"I-I think I will go below," Celia gulped, practically running down the steps and almost colliding with Noah Trinity for the second time. "S-sorry," she called as she disappeared into the cabin.

"If you were anythin' like a man, Fernan, you wouldn't put her in this position," Jack snapped, glaring angrily at his crewman.

"If yer were anythin' like a man, _Captain_, yer wouldn't have had her fer th'first time on a ship full of men," came the riposte. "You'd have taken her ter some nice tavern ashore an' treated her right."

"She was willing!" Jack barked, advancing on him. "She wanted me an' that's what you can't handle."

"Crap!" Oliver snarled. "You coerced her."

"That's enough, both of you!" Joshamee snapped, pushing between the two men. "Oliver, below - Myles, you can have the helm back for a while. Jack, to your cabin."

"Who made _you_ captain?" Jack taunted, never taking his eyes of the tall Irishman who was himself glaring back.

"You're letting your emotions get in the way. Fernan!" Gibbs barked, shoving him in the chest. "Below before I throw you in th'brig."

"Aye, Mister Gibbs," Oliver hissed, shooting one more look at Jack before turning on his heel.

"Jack… _Captain_ Sparrow. Might I tactfully suggest you go and cool off in your cabin. Celia will be needing reassurance…" The quartermaster hoped that his captain's feelings for the young woman might bring him to his senses.

"Aye," Jack sighed eventually. "She will…" He made to turn but stopped. "Come ter my cabin in a while, we have things ter discuss."

"Aye, Captain," the quartermaster agreed, knowing what his captain was going to say. "In one turn?"

"One turn will be fine," Jack called over his shoulder as he made his way down the quarterdeck steps and into his cabin, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Bloody hell," Myles Burford muttered, glancing at Joshamee who shook his head slowly.

"Celia?" Jack called, searching his cabin for the young woman before making for the side cabin. "You all right, luv?"

"What am I going to do?" she fretted, looking at him as he stood in the doorway.

"Nothin'," Jack told her, stepping inside and taking her in his arms. "It's my problem, savvy, an' I'll deal with it."

"I-I never… _encouraged_ him," Celia worried. "I was just friendly, or so I thought."

"I know. Hey - he can't help havin' impeccable taste in women, eh?" Jack chivvied, lifting her chin and brushing his lips against hers.

"But if you're going to fight and argue everytime you see each other…"

"We won't," he assured her. "I promise."

"Maybe it would be better if I wasn't here. Maybe I can find work in Tortuga and pay you back that way?"

"No!" Jack stated, shaking his head firmly. "I'm not havin' that."

"But I will have to go back ashore sometime, won't I?"

Jack frowned, not having thought that far ahead and found himself shaking his head. "Not if you don't want to, no."

"I can't live on board!" Celia exclaimed. "I don't _want_ to live on board!"

"What do you want, then?"

It was Celia's turn to pause as she struggled to put into words what was on her mind. "I suppose I just want to know where I stand with you, or at least where I _will_ stand once my debt is repaid. "Will you wave me off with thanks for a good time, or…?"

"Or what," Jack asked quietly. "What do _you_ want from _me_?"

"I told you, to know where I stand. Was your interest in me purely carnal and now that you've had me, you'll discard me like a rag?"

"No, luv… I won't discard you." Jack sighed and took her hand, leading her to the stern seats and sitting down, pulling her on to his lap. "My initial interest in you… well, maybe that was lust an' little else. But when I found that you'd been taken by… well, I realised that I was worried fer you - genuinely worried an' b'fore I knew it, I was making sail fer Port-au-Prince. You sure yer don't want ter stay aboard?"

"No, Jack. I hate the idea of you attacking other ships and killing the crew. I just can't…"

"We don't always kill th'other crew," the pirate captain defended. "In fact, we mostly let 'em go, savvy?"

"But when you fire on them - men get killed then, don't they?"

"Aye, th'same as _my_ men get killed when they fire on us. It's part an' parcel of this life, Celia. So yer won't stay?"

"No," Celia declared firmly. "But you still haven't answered my question."

Jack winced, hoping to have avoided this conversation at all, for he was unsure as to what to say. "Why don't we wait an' see what happens, eh? I mean, this time last week, you were adamant that you'd never give yerself ter me, an' now…" he chuckled, sucking on her earlobe. "Now, yer can't get enough of me," he growled as she shuddered in his arms.

"Jack… no…"

"No," he agreed, breaking away with a sigh. "Too much ter do."

"I was thinking more of the indecency of it," Celia chided with mock severity, unable to supress a grin as she looked at him. "Stop it!"

"What?" Jack shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent. "No regrets, luv?" he enquired, almost hesitantly.

"I've tried to feel regret," she admitted ruefully, "but I can't."

"Thank gawd fer that. I'll get Gibbs ter send th'sewin' in here."

"No - I'm coming out on deck to do it. I'll just sit at the bow and not the quarterdeck, if that's all right?"

"Fine," Jack smiled, kissing the tip of of her nose then standing, catching his lover before she fell to the deck. "Come on then."

"All right," Celia, musing that he had still managed to get out of answering her question to her satisfaction.

…


	22. Chapter 22

Usual disclaimers

Many apologies for not posting this chapter for so long – I'm afraid I lost interest slightly. Hopefully normal service will be resumed and I can think of an ending to it – Ani

…

**Chapter Twenty two**

**Four days later**

Jack leaned on the rail of his ship, watching as the port of Saint Marta grew larger in his sight and wondered what they would find this time – if anything. He idly mused whether Celia was indeed right and it _was_ a meaningless journey, but mentally shrugged, grinning as he noticed a number of ships in the harbour. '_If there's nothin' here, there's somethin' here_…' he chuckled, casting an expert eye over each ship to see how low in the water they were, how many cannons he considered them to have, and what general state the ship was in. "Rich pickings I reckon," he said aloud to no one in particular.

"Just what I was thinkin', Cap'n," Thomas Frazer, the master gunner, agreed as he joined his captain. "Although I could do with a few more balls an' chain shot."

"You shall have some," Jack nodded, wanting to attack one of the ships already, and sod what they had come here for originally. "Find out who can speak Spanish amongst th'crew, apart from José, of course."

"Aye, Cap'n," the Scotsman grinned as he went eagerly on his errand, itching to feel the pounding of his guns once more.

'_I think I'll leave Celia on board this time_,' Jack mused. '_I'll go an' tell her_…' With a last look at the schooner on the far side of the harbour, Jack pushed himself off the rail and followed in the wake of his gunner.

…

"Oh! Oliver!" Celia exclaimed, as the Irishman stepped out of his cabin as she made her way from the galley where she had been helping Toby prepare for supper. She had mostly managed to stay out of his way for the past few days and knew that he and Jack had not exchanged a single word in all that time.

"Aye, I'm sorry yer had ter see me," he sniped, going to push past her but changing his mind and grabbing her arm, pulling her quickly into his cabin and closing the door.

"Oliver… this isn't…"

"Come with me," he urged, cutting off her words. "We'll steal away from th'ship an' make a life fer ourselves."

"_What_?" she gasped. "No!"

"No?" Oliver repeated. "What do you mean, no? Are yer frightened of th'cap'n? He won't find us, I'll make sure of that."

"No," Celia cried again, pulling away from him. "I don't want to, I don't want _you_!"

"Come on, me darlin'," he crooned softly, moving towards her once more. "I can give yer a better life than yer'd have on board. I don't care that he's had yer now… I want yer, an' not just fer that - an' that is all _he_ wants yer for."

"No, Oliver," she stated firmly, backing away towards the door. "No it isn't. Jack wants more than that."

"I don't believe you," Oliver snorted derisively. "We could live an honest life," he insisted, frowning as she moved away from him. "I could find work as a farmer."

"No… I'm s-sorry, Oliver, but I want to stay with Jack."

"You _what_?" he exploded. "But… what about us – yer can't tell me th'kisses we shared mean nothin' t'yer."

"I… I _do_ like you, Oliver," Celia sighed, "Just… not in that way. I'm sorry."

"Fine!" he snapped, turning on his heel and storming to the door. "If that's th'way yer feel…"

"Oliver!" she cried, running to the door in time to see him storm along the corridor then disappear around the corner, shoving past Elliot Deane, who had been released from the brig along with Gabriel Jennings, the previous day. "Oh, Lord," she groaned, hiding behind the door in case the young crewman saw her and got the wrong idea. '_Now what do I do_?' Celia waited until the coast was clear and crept from the cabin, her heart pounding in case she should bump into the Irishman again. '_I wish I could like him as he wants me to_,' she thought as she made her way towards the hatch. '_Maybe when Jack gets bored… no, Oliver wouldn't want to be second best and I'm not sure I could feel that way for him anyway. Damn you, Jack Sparrow, for having such a hold on me_.'

"Celia, luv! I've been lookin' everywhere fer you."

"Jack!" she breathed, grateful for the dimness of the corridor so he could not see her blush. "I-I think I must have taken a wrong turn," she lied, smiling at him and hoping that he would not see through her.

"I think it might be best if yer stay on board this time, eh? We're not goin' ter be raidin' anywhere this time, not that we did _last _time," he sighed, rolling his eyes at the missed opportunity in Saint Georges, "but I don't want you ashore in case there _is_ any trouble, savvy?"

"You won't get any argument from me," she declared with relief. "But what about if there's something in the churchyard?"

"Frazer will draw it an' if needs be, you can come an' have a look yerself, if it's safe."

"All right," Celia nodded, threading her arm through his as they walked along.

"Gettin' quite bold, aren't we, Miss Hammond?"

"Oh… I-I'm sorry," she stammered, snatching her hand away, her head reeling in confusion.

"Eh? I was only teasin' yer daft mare!" Jack chortled, taking her hand and placing it back in the crook of his arm. "One day…" he sighed ruefully.

"O-one day, what?"

"You'll trust me."

"I'm sorry, Jack," Celia whispered, still trying to cope with what had happened with Oliver, without having to deal with Jack's teasing as well. "It will take time…"

"You all right, luv?" Jack stopped and peered at her, pulling her into the shaft of light streaming from the hatch so he could see her more clearly and frowning when she avoided his gaze. "Celia…?"

Celia floundered for a moment, trying desperately to come up with some excuse – the last thing she wanted was another argument, or worse, between Jack and his helmsman. "I-I suppose I'm a little tired," she eventually replied, the blush that crept across her face once more giving credence to her words.

"Heh! I'll have ter make sure you get some sleep tonight then, eh? But not _too_ much…"

"You are an incorrigible rouge," she scolded without malice.

"Aye, an'proud of it!" Jack boasted as they climbed the steps to the main deck. "I'll get Gibbs ter stay behind fer first watch – keep an eye on you."

"_Jack_! I don't need keeping an eye on."

"I'd rather you had," he shrugged, not telling her the real reason was that he wanted an eye kept on Oliver Fernan, who was staying on board due to his injury. His quartermaster had had a word with the tall Irishman and assured Jack that Oliver would not be causing any trouble, but that did not quell the unease in Jack's mind and he vowed to watch his helmsman carefully – _very_ carefully.

…

"Yer sure yer up ter being ashore?" Gabriel Jennings enquired as Oliver caught them up on the quayside. "Yer were stabbed only a few days ago."

"It's a mere scratch," the Irishman snarled crossly, walking ahead of his friends in order to lose them, or at least not face any more questions.

"What's with 'im?" Elliot pondered quietly as he fell into step with Gabriel. "Ain't ever seen him in a foul mood."

"It's her, ain't it?" Adam Butler chipped in as a group of men walked along the docks, eager to find a tavern, but also keen to be the one to find out about what sort of cargo the schooner may be carrying, as their captain had instructed them to do, discreetly. "He's got it bad fer her but knows 'e can't 'ave her."

"Aye, true enough," Elliot shrugged, the first words he had said to his crewmate since being released from the brig.

"If yer've all finished talkin' about me?" Oliver exploded, rounding on the crew. "It's none of anybody's damned business!"

"Whoa! Pardon us," Adam jeered. "Ya should've know better than ter go after th'cap'n's missus."

Oliver grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him hard against a wall, his face twisted into an angry snarl. "It is none of yer fuckin' business, Butler, or any of yer," he growled, shoving his crewmate to one side and storming off in the opposite direction.

"I'll kill 'im!" Adam Butler yelled, making to go after the Irishman.

"Leave it," Jacob Sumner implored, placing himself between the two irate pirates. "Th'cap'n'll throw both of yer in th'brig fer fightin'. Come on, we all need a drink, even if Mouse doesn't."

"Nah, we know what Mouse needs," Elliot chuckled, nudging Gabriel Jennings next to him.

"Yer'll be gettin' a fist in th'gob if yer ain't careful," Jacob warned the younger man. "Mine…"

"Sorry," Elliot replied sarcastically, pulling a face behind the watchman's back. "Bleedin' hell, ain't _anybody_ in a good mood today?"

"Ask me when I've had a few ales inside me," Gabriel quipped, drawing laughter and agreement from his mates. "Here, this place'll do us," he announced, steering them all towards a tavern lying back from the main street. "Remember what th'cap'n said – discreet, savvy!"

…

"What d'yer make of it, Cap'n?" Thomas Frazer mused as they all looked at the gravestone, which was carved in exactly the same way as Rebecca Goodluck's had been in Saint Georges.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Jack shrugged, tugging at his beard braids as he thought. "Maybe we _do_ need Celia, eh?"

"Shall I go an' fetch her, Cap'n?" José Santos offered.

"Nah, I'll go myself. Yer can go an' have yer leave now – an' don't forget…"

"Aye, ask around about th'ships in th'port," Noah Trinity grinned as he and his mates made their way from the churchyard, leaving Jack standing alone, staring at the stone.

'_This won't help you work it out_,' he thought, shaking himself from his reverie and starting towards the gate, stopping dead again as he spotted Oliver Fernan walking down the lane leading away from the town. '_Now, where in th'world are you goin'_?" Jack hurried along the path and carefully opened the gate in case it squeaked and crept along the street, keeping close to the buildings in case he needed to dart into a doorway to save from being discovered. He had to run as he saw his helmsman turn into an alleyway and hoped that he would not lose him. '_Is he visitin' a whore_?' he pondered as he peered around the corner and pulled a face at the empty alley. '_Nah… not his style_.' Jack dashed down the short alley, cursing himself for losing the Irishman and he prayed that he'd find him again and discover where it was his crewman was heading.

"Why are yer followin' me, Cap'n?"

'_Bugger_!' "I'm not… all right, maybe I was," Jack admitted with a shrug as Oliver stepped out from a doorway halfway down the alley. "I just wondered why you weren't on ship an' where you were goin'."

"I'm on shore leave, therefore it ain't any of yer concern where I'm goin'," Oliver snapped, turning away.

"You may be on shore leave but I'm still yer captain an' you don't talk ter me like that," Jack frowned, putting his hands on his hips and glaring his crewman. "You seem ter know where you're headin'…"

"I fancied a walk in th'hills," the Irishman retorted, nodding his head towards the hilly countryside on the outskirts of town. "Is that all right with yer?"

"Fernan," Jack warned. "Talk ter me like that again…"

"An' yer'll what? Throw me in th'brig? That'll endear ya ter Celia, won't it?" he sneered, turning his head and glowering at his captain. "Tell me, how long b'fore yer become bored with her, hmm? How long b'fore she regrets givin' herself t'yer - at least I care about her!" Oliver exploded.

"An' I don't?" Jack enquired, the evenness of his voice belied by the coldness of his tone. "She doesn't want yer, Fernan. She never did, savvy?"

"Liar! Yer coerced her into givin' herself t'yer, ya wheedled yer way into her affections, an' as soon as yer've had yer fun, yer'll cast her off like a torn sail. Well I'll be waitin'," the Irishman promised, taking a step towards his captain. "I'm a patient man that truly cares fer Celia – I'll wait an' mend her broken heart."

"Th'way you're goin', yer won't be on board long enough ter see if I break her heart or not," Jack growled, also taking a step closer to the bigger man.

"Yer goin' ter throw me off? Ha! I'd like ter see ya explain _that_ ter her, an' th'crew."

"I am captain therefore my word is law, savvy?"

"Yer captain of a pirate ship, therefore we can vote yer off if we see fit, _savvy_?" Oliver mocked.

"Are you threatening mutiny, Fernan?" Jack barked, his face dark with fury. "Eh? Or are yer all mouth an' no breeches?"

"I ain't threatening mutiny – just remindin' ye that yer word ain't law."

"I can still throw you off th'ship an' believe me, you're gettin' even closer to it."

"Yer just lookin' fer an excuse ter be rid of me," Oliver retorted, "just in case she sees through yer an' realises she wants me."

"Why don't you get it into yer thick skull? She does not want you – she told me herself. She sees you as a brother type figure an' nothin' more."

"No! No, she doesn't. She kissed me!"

"She _what_?" Jack growled, advancing once more on his crewman. "She kissed you… or did you kiss her?"

"I kissed her an' she reciprocated," the tall Irishman replied scornfully. "Didn't know _that_, did yer, Cap'n?"

"It doesn't alter th'fact that she wants me – that she actually told me that she wants me, so you can either go an' screw another woman an' forget her, or you can leave th'ship."

"Yer'll make me leave anyway," he snorted, turning his back once more as he tried to hide the turmoil raging inside.

"You know I won't. You're th'best helm I've _ever_ seen, an' th'rest of th'crew like yer… an' _yes_, Celia would take it badly. But then' I'd be able ter comfort her, eh?" Jack taunted, not able to resist the dig.

"You…" Oliver spun on his heel quick enough to make Jack reach for his dagger but not pull it from its sheath. "Yer a bastard, _Captain_ Sparrow. I love Celia but th'only person yer care about is yourself. What Jack Sparrow wants, Jack Sparrow gets, eh?"

"Which is why I'm th'most successful pirate captain in th'Spanish Main, even if I'm not th'most fearsome. You've never complained about my captaincy before."

"You've never seduced an innocent young girl before."

"Ah, an' if _you'd_ had yer way with her, that would've been different, eh? How?"

"Because I love her! Because I would cherish her an' not treat her as a plaything." Oliver reeled as the blow from Jack's fist sent him flying backwards.

"You're not th'only one who cares about her, Fernan! Why do you think we sailed ter Port-au-Prince when I didn't even know if she was alive, if she'd been raped or anythin', hmm? Why do you think I ordered you an' Jennings ter destroy th'church in Tortuga? Ter stop her from puttin' herself in danger? Why do you think I keep her on board, even though I know she doesn't like it? Because I fuckin' care about her as well!" Jack shouted, clenching and uncleching his fists as he spoke. "An' _not_ because she was a virgin, either!" He fished in an inside pocket of his coat before pulling out a leather pouch and slinging it at his crewman. "Here – this should cover yer purse an' reimburse you for your belongings."

"Yer _not_ forcin' me off th'ship! Oliver yelled, moving towards Jack again and wincing as his wound tugged at him, bringing him up short. "I'll round up th'crew an' _yes_, I will lead a mutiny!"

"I won't allow that," Jack stated, shaking his head. "I can't allow that!" He aimed a blow at Oliver's ribs, not so low as to damage the stab wound further, but low enough to double the larger man over and then he balled his fists, smashing them into the back of his neck, knocking him out cold. "Sorry, Mouse," Jack sighed with regret. "But if you stay on board, one of us'll wind up dead…" He picked up the leather pouch, which had gone flying as Oliver fell and tucked it down the front of the Irishman's breeches so that it blended with the natural bulge, and stood there, trying to decide what to do. He looked along the alleyway and spotted what looked like a derelict building just down from where the stricken man lay, so bent down and slid his hands beneath Oliver's shoulders and dragged him to the building, panting with the effort as he hoisted him inside. "Damn, but yer heavy," he muttered, wiping his brow with the end of his bandana once they were inside, then took off his hat and unwound the red sash from his head and cut it in half using his dagger, tying first Oliver's hands and then his feet together. With a last glance down at the unconscious man, Jack put his hat back on his head and strode from the building and back along the alleyway.

'_Now where would be th'best place_…?' Jack mused to himself as he reached the end of the alley and looked along the street, fervently hoping that he would not bump into any of his crew. He grinned shrewdly as he saw a man leading a horse and cart down the street and walked forward, approaching him with open arms and a wide smile. "Señor, usted querría ganar algún dinero?" (Sir, would you like to earn some money?)

"Hacer qué?" (doing what?) the Spaniard enquired, eyeing Jack suspiciously. "Y cuánto?" (And how much?)

Jack checked his pockets, inside and out before pulling out two peso's and showing them to the man, whose eyebrows shot up as he looked at Jack with renewed light.

"Si," the man nodded eagerly. "What do you want doing?"

Jack led him down the alley, hoping that they were not drawing too much attention, but glancing around, no-one seemed to be taking any notice of them whatsoever. He stopped outside the building and peered in, relieved to see Oliver still unconscious and beckoned the man inside, holding his hands out to show he meant no harm as the Spaniard hesitated. "I want you to take him in your cart as far away as you can travel," he informed him in his native tongue. "But he is not to be harmed."

"That is all?" the man asked incredulously. "Just take him away for two peso's?"

"That is all," Jack grinned, pressing the coins into his hand. "Let's get him aboard. Your word he will come to no harm?"

"I do not harm people unless they want to harm me," the Spaniard shrugged, lifting Oliver's feet as Jack took his shoulders. Between them, they hoisted the stockily built man onto the cart and covered him over with sackcloth.

"Gracias," Jack smiled, clasping his hands together and bowing his head, sighing regretfully as the cart started to move away. '_Pity_,' he mused, a frown creasing his brow. '_Bloody good helmsman_… n_ow ter break th'news_…'

…

"Cap'n! Bloody hell, we've looked all over fer ya," Thomas Frazer exclaimed, as he and Josia Phelps entered the run down tavern and spotted their captain sitting at the bar and nursing a mug.

"An' now you've found me," Jack sniped, not looking round. "What do you want?"

"We've discovered what yer wanted ter know, like – 'bout th'ships, an' all," the master gunner explained quietly, exchanging glances with his mate at their captain's mood.

"Good fer you," Jack retorted, downing the contents of his mug in one and slamming it on the counter, indicating for another to be brought.

"Erm… d'yer want me ter arrange th'shot yer promised me?" the Scotsman asked hesitantly. He had met up with Myles Burford a few minutes previously and the helmsman had told him about Oliver Fernan's bad temper earlier that day and he wondered if the two men's moods were coincidental or not. He suspected not.

"Aye." Jack waved his hand. "I'll trust it ter you…"

"I… erm, need some money ter pay fer it…"

"Here," Jack threw a few coins at his crewman and waved his hand again, hoping this time the two men would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Thankee, Cap'n," Thomas deferred, scurrying out of the tavern with Phelps following quickly behind. "Bloody hell!" he muttered. "Must be somethin' in th'air around here."

"More like somethin' in th'cabin on board," Josia mused, arching an eyebrow at his crewmate.

"Hmm," the gunner agreed as they both made their way to where they had seen a munitions store.

'_Come on, Jack_,' he chided himself some time later. '_Can't sit here gettin' drunk an' puttin' it off any longer_.' With a deep sigh, Jack stood and weaved his way unsteadily across the floor of the tavern, wondering if Oliver had woken yet and whether they would make sail before he had chance to wake and find his way back to Saint Marta. '_Let's just hope th'farmer lives far away, eh_?' he thought wryly as he opened the door and took in the fresher air outside in an attempt to sober himself up and he slowly made his way to the quayside, trying to work out the best way to break the news to the men about their crewmate, and worst of all to Celia, whom he suspected liked the Irishman more than she admitted.

…

"Is everythin' in order, Mister Gibbs?" Jack barked as he climbed on board his ship, scanning the decks for any sign of Celia and not being sure whether he was glad or disappointed when he did not spot her.

"Aye, Captain," the quartermaster confirmed. "Th'change of watch is in a half turn and then th'rest of th'men can have their leave." He had been filled in on events ashore by various men and had been half dreading his captain's return to the ship, but to his surprise, Jack was not as inebriated as he had thought that he would be, although his mood seemed as dark as Frazer and Phelps had told him it was.

"Very well. Send Celia ter my cabin an' keep yer eye on th'schooner. I noticed activity on th'dock's by where she's berthed..."

"Aye, we'd noticed it too," Gibbs nodded. "They might be leaving sooner than we thought."

Jack stopped, frowning as he pondered something, then turned back to the portly man. "Postpone leave fer an hour or so – promise th'men extra grog ter sweeten them."

"All right," Joshamee sighed, knowing the decision would not go down well, but seeing the reason for it nonetheless. "Go and fetch Celia," he instructed Peter Swain as he watched Jack make his way to his cabin and wondered if there were going to be any ructions on board, as there appeared to have been ashore.

"Miss Celia? Th'cap'n wants you in his cabin," the ship's lad informed her with a toothy grin as he peered around the doorway of the galley.

"Right away?" she asked, wondering if she was to leave the potatoes and go immediately.

"Aye, I reckon so."

"All right," Celia sighed, drying her hands on her breeches and following the youngster along the gloomy corridor.

Jack paced his cabin, wondering what to say to the young woman, whether to confront her or just keep quiet. He still felt a mixture of anger and regret bubbling inside him at the argument between himself and his helmsman. '_You can't let Celia see your anger_,' he thought. '_It's not her fault_… _although I still reckon_ _she likes him more than she says… maybe Fernan was right, maybe she was… **is** afraid of me…_' Jack sighed heavily and yanked the cabin door open in time to see the object of his desire emerge from the hatch.

"Ah, Celia! Miss us?" he teased as he walked over to her, his anger dissipating as he looked at her. "Or was it just me yer missed?"

"You've been gone a long time," she fretted. "I was worried in case there was more trouble."

"I told you there wouldn't be, besides, I left enough crew ter sail th'ship out if necessary."

"That's not the point!" Celia frowned, blushing as she realised her admission in front of the crew.

"Ah," Jack chuckled, throwing his arms wide, circling his wrists and leaning towards her. "So yer _do _care?"

"Did you find anything in the churchyard?" she sighed, quickly changing the subject before she embarrassed herself further.

"Aye, Miss Celia," Thomas Frazer told her, breaking away from instructing his gunnery crew where to store the ball, chain and grape shot that he had purchased. "A headstone engraved exactly th'same as th'one in Saint Georges, with this…" he handed her a piece of paper with a drawing of rope with a snakes head. "Any ideas?"

"No," she frowned. "What was the name of the person who's grave it was?"

"Allport," Jack put in. "Roy Allport. Ring any bells?"

"None," Celia replied absently as she continued to study the drawing. "Although this could indicate Saint Paul.

"Cap'n! Looks like th'schooner's makin' ready ter sail. "They're stockin' up," Matthias Swain announced from his watch position. Celia looked anxiously from the paper to Jack, closing her eyes in despair as she read his intentions in his eyes.

"Looks like _we_ stock up elsewhere," Jack chuckled wryly, his earlier mood and worry temporarily forgotten as he realised they would be leaving the port a lot sooner than anticipated.

"Aye – that schooner!" Thomas cackled, rubbing his hands with glee, looking sideways at his captain and thankful that his earlier bad humour seemed to have passed.

"S-shall I go to the cabin now?" Celia enquired, trying to muster up some courage to face what she knew would be coming.

"Not yet – unless yer want to?" Jack grinned, his mind fully on the schooner and nothing else.

"Peter said you wanted to see me?" she pressed, wondering why he had ordered her up there.

"Eh? Ah, yes. Doesn't matter – not important," he replied airily, wishing he could risk looking more closely at the schooner with his spyglass, but not daring to in case someone on board the other ship noticed and their cover would be blown.

"So you don't want me?" Celia retorted crossly. "You brought me up here for nothing?"

"Sorry, luv," Jack shrugged absently. "See yer later."

"You infuriating, aggravating, annoying…" she hissed under her breath, clenching and unclenching her fists as she walked back to the hatch, looking at him as she went to go down and finding the corners of her lips twitching as she wryly thought how typical of Jack it was. '_Only you could make those traits almost attractive_,' she mused, shaking her head ruefully. '_Curse you, Jack Sparrow_…'

"Cap'n! What about Mouse – he's not aboard!" Myles Burford called across the deck.

"Don't worry about Mouse," Jack sighed heavily. "He's left th'ship."

"_What_? The helmsman gasped, looking down at his captain on the main deck from his position at the helm. "Left th'ship?"

"Aye, I'll fill yer all in later," Jack evaded vaguely. '_When we're far enough away that he can't catch up_.'

"H-he's left?" Celia cried, turning away from the hatch and walking back over to Jack. "How do you know?"

"I bumped into him," Jack replied gently, hoping that she would not press further and force him to lie to her, but at the same time knowing that it was a hopeless wish.

"W-what did he say?" Celia pressed, struggling against the tears. '_I've forced him from the ship_,' she thought to herself. '_Oh, no!_'

"Not a lot," Jack shrugged, a knot of unease growing in his stomach. "Don't fret yourself, eh?"

"Jack… I…"

"Later, Celia," he told her. "It can wait 'til later, eh?"

"All right," she frowned, making her way back to the hatch, hurt at both the news and the curt dismissal by Jack.

…


	23. Chapter 23

Still don't own him!

With thanks for the reviews and to Kat for editing.

…

Chapter Twenty Three 

"I can't believe Mouse has gone!" John Orchard exclaimed as he and his crewmates prepared the ship for making sail.

"I can," Adam Butler observed smugly as they all digested the news that Oliver Fernan was indeed no longer one of them. "Th'mood he was in…"

"Aye, I ain't ever seen him like that, b'fore," Elliot agreed, shaking his head. "But ter desert th'ship like that…"

"So, exactly what is th'schooner carryin'?" Jack enquired from behind where they were working, realising that although his master gunner had told him they had found the information out, he did not know what it was.

"Spices, Cap'n," Gabriel Jennings informed him. "An' sugar… what happened with Mouse, Cap'n?"

Jack sighed, sliding his hand beneath his hat and scratching his head, suddenly remembering he had no bandana on. "We had a difference of opinion," he admitted. "I couldn't allow him back on th'ship, so I gave him a purse."

"An' he took it?" Adam Butler asked suspiciously.

"He had little choice," Jack shrugged. "Now back ter work, th'lot of you, if yer want ter catch that schooner. Spice an' sugar are too valuable ter let go, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," the men replied, some a little less enthusiastically than others.

"Offered him a purse, my arse!" Butler snorted once Jack was out of earshot.

"You wanna watch what yer sayin'," Jacob Sumner warned. "Talk like that will get yer against th'gratin'."

"Y'must admit though, it does seem a little strange," Gabriel mused as he hauled on a rope.

"Not given how Mouse felt about Miss Celia," John Orchard reasoned. "I'll bet all my share that she was th'reason fer Mouse _leavin_'."

"Aye," the rest of the men agreed.

"Better look lively, lads," Jacob warned. "Th'cap'n's keepin' an eye on us. An' I ain't sure I want ter miss out on that prize, anyway."

"Imagine how much we'll get fer spices, let alone sugar," Gabriel chuckled gleefully.

"So we're just goin' ter leave it at that?" Butler enquired. "Even though there's a chance th'cap'n could've done somethin' ter Mouse?"

"Like yer've ever cared about Oliver before!" Jacob snorted. "But what'd yer reckon, lads? Should we ask th'cap'n if we can go back an' find him, persuade him ter change his mind?"

"Ya heard th'cap'n. _He_ was th'one who decided that Mouse couldn't come back. B'sides, there wouldn't be time," John put in. "So it's spices or Mouse…"

"I hope yer hands are workin' as fast as yer gobs!" Jack barked, glowering at the group of men from his position on the quarterdeck. "If yer have somethin' ter say, say it ter my face."

"We're worried fer Mouse, Cap'n. He was in a right mood when we got ashore an' stormed off, an' then we find out that th'pair of you had a fight - it ain't like him. We were wonderin'…" the ship's carpenter hesitated, glancing around his mates before continuing. "If we could perhaps go an' find him, an' maybe persuade him ter come back."

"I think yer ears need cleanin' out, Orchard! I said that there is no chance of him comin' back - not if he wanted ter live beyond first bell of th'mid watch. Now back ter work before I throw th'lot of yer in th'brig!" Jack sighed deeply and turned his back so none of the crew could see the anger and despondency in his eyes. "We make sail before they do," he ordered, still not facing the crew. "We can soon catch them up if they happen to go in a different direction."

"I hope we've got enough food an' ale ter last us," Adam Butler hissed, shooting dark looks towards the quarterdeck.

"You goin' ter ask th'cap'n if we have or not?" Elliot enquired innocently.

"Ha bloody ha," his crewmate sniped, shaking his fist at him.

"I don't like it," Gabriel fretted. "Ain't ever seen th'cap'n like this b'fore."

"Maybe Mister Gibbs is right about women on board ships, eh?" Elliot pondered. "First Mouse, an' now th'cap'n an' it's all because of her."

"You going ter tell th'cap'n that?" Butler mocked, pulling a face at the younger man. "Nah, Fernan can take care of himself… I want that prize."

…

Oliver woke with a start as the cart went down a rut and woke him and he wondered why he could not move his arms or legs until the memory came flooding back and he cursed silently. '_You're not gettin' away with this_,' he thought darkly as he worked against the binding on his wrists until it was loose enough to slip one hand out and he yanked it off before starting on the one on his ankles. He carefully pulled back the sackcloth and peered out at the driver of the cart, smiling to himself when he saw it was only one man and he crept slowly forwards, then grabbed his captor and hauled him to the back of the cart, punching him several times until he was unconcious. Oliver scrambled to the bench at the front of the cart and grabbed the reins before the horse panicked and bolted and drew the vehicle to a standstill then jumped down and began unharnessing the filly, gently rubbing her nose to calm her down.

"It's all right, girl," he soothed. "I mean yer no harm." He grabbed the mane and hauled himself up, holding on to the reins as he steered them in the direction which they had come and urged her forwards, praying that they had not come too far from the town and that he would reach it before the pirate ship set sail.

…

"Raise th'anchor," Jack ordered, not wanting to leave at the same time as the schooner in case it raised suspicions. "We'll take it nice an' gentle, Mister Burford."

"Nice an' gentle, aye, Cap'n," the helmsman agreed. "Bearin'?"

"North by northeast. "At least th'wind'll be for us if they head west." Jack stood at the stern, his mind back on Celia who had gone into the cabin a few minutes earlier. "Call me if anythin' untoward happens," he ordered Myles as he strode across the quarterdeck and down the steps, hesitating for the merest second before pushing the door to his cabin open, surprised to see Celia in her work clothes, swabbing the deck.

"Hello," she smiled timidly. "I thought you had got lost."

"Aye, I got caught up with th'rush of gettin' everythin' ready. You all right?"

"Fine," she replied in a tone that suggested otherwise. "What happened with you and Oliver? You didn't…?"

"Of course I didn't kill him," Jack frowned, a little hurt that she would think that of him. "I saw him headin' out of town an' wondered where he was goin' when he expressly said that he was stayin' on board. Do you know why he went ashore?"

"N-no," Celia stammered, avoiding his eyes in case she gave herself away but realised that he would see through her anyway. "He… erm… he asked me to run away with him." The words came out in a rush and Celia stared intently at the deck, not wanting to face the anger she knew, or at least thought she knew, would be coming.

"Ah… an' what did you say?"

"What do you think I said? He believed we could make a live for ourselves and that he could find work as a farmer."

"And that was your sole reason fer turnin' him down?" Jack wondered, cocking his head one side as he regarded the young woman. "Just how much do… _did_ you like him, luv?"

"I told you!" Celia protested, snapping her head up and glaring at him. "I didn't feel the same way for him as for you - isn't that enough?"

"But you _did_ feel fer him?"

"No! Yes…" she sighed despondantly, her shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

"So why did yer chose me, I wonder? Afraid of what I'd do ter you?" Suddenly the words that his former crewman had said during their argument did not seem so absurd after all.

"No… I don't know!" Celia cried, throwing her hands up as she struggled to explain herself. "I suppose I did wonder if you really would have thrown us both off the ship if I had chosen Oliver, but that was not the reason, Jack!"

"What was th'reason then?" Jack mused, arching his eyebrows as he still looked at her with his head to the side.

"I love you, damn it! Though Lord only knows why! There, are you happy now?" Celia turned on her heel and stormed to the side cabin, cursing for the umpteenth time of the lack of a door to shut and lock behind herself. "Leave me alone!" she ordered as she heard his booted feet walking towards the side cabin. "For once Jack, just give me _some_ privacy, _please_."

Jack stopped and frowned at her words, debating whether to ignore her as usual or whether to comply with her wishes, before deciding on the latter and turning away, walking to the door with a deep sigh, part of him elated at her words and part of him slightly terrified.

…

Oliver Fernan crested the brow of a hill on the filly which he had stolen, and looked down on the town of Saint Marta and its harbour, jumping down and kicking the dirt in aggravation as he saw his former ship sailing away. "Fuck! Damn yer bleedin' eyes, Sparrow!" he cursed, aiming another kick at the soil then walking over to the horse which had wandered to the scrubby grass and was happily munching on it. "All right, girl," he smiled ruefully, patting her rump. "Yer can have a rest a while. No use in hurryin' now." The Irishman looked back at the black ship, closing his eyes in disappointment and hurt and seeing Celia in his mind's eye. "Don't think this is over, Sparrow," he vowed, opening his eyes once more. "I _will_ find yer an' then we'll see who Celia _really_ wants… an' it won't be _you_!"

…

'_Why_? _Why does my life have to be complicated all the time_?' Celia sighed, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes as she swabbed the deck of the cabin. '_Why couldn't I have just married Robert - I would be still at home with maybe a family of my own by now_.' She flung the swab across the cabin in frustration and wincing as it clattered against the mizzenmast.

"'Scuse me, Miss Celia," came Peter Swain's uncertain voice from the door. "Captain Sparrow told me ter tell yer that'll we'll be attackin' th'ship b'fore too long - they're headin' th'same direction as us, an' yer to prepare yerself like last time."

"All right, Peter," Celia sighed, "thank you."

"I… I've also got ter join yer when th'attack starts," he frowned worriedly. "Though gawd knows why."

"Don't worry - I won't be throwing _you_ across the cabin, she chuckled wryly. "And I expect your father has something to do with you joining me."

"He has!" the young lad grumbled. "It ain't like I've never been through an attack b'fore - I've been on board fer th'past six months!" he declared, bristling with indignation.

"Maybe they expect this attack to be a bad one," Celia mused, shuddering at the thought. '_Lord, I hope not_.' "Why did you join? You're very young, but very capable," she added quickly as she saw anger flare in his eyes.

"Me Ma died of a fever an' I 'ad no-one else ter look after me, so Da asked th'cap'n if I could join th'ship as a lad."

"I see," she replied, thoughtfully. "And the captain agreed?"

"Oh, aye," Peter grinned. "An' 'e don't treat me like I'm stupid or anythin'. 'E treats me like one o'th'crew."

"That's good. It's nice when you are treated as you want to be treated."

"Yeah," the boy agreed. "I'll see yer when th'attack starts, eh?"

"No doubt," Celia sighed, walking dejectedly over to the swab when the youngster had gone, picking it up with another sigh. "Why do you have to be such an enigma, Jack?" she pondered aloud. "Why do you have to make me want to find out more about you? Why do I have to love you?" She meandered over to the pail and plopped the swab back into it before half-heartedly cleaning the deck once more.

…

"'S'all right, Miss Celia," Peter assured her as they huddled together beneath a mound of blankets, coverlets and thick coats that the men had provided, while the ship screamed and reverberated from shot after shot aimed at their prey in an effort to force their surrender. "It's us, not them."

"I know," she whispered hoarsely, hugging her knees to her chest. "It doesn't make it any easier, though."

"Ah, yer'll get used ter it," the lad assured her with all of the confidence of youth, falling silent as the bombardment continued from both ships, half wanting to be watching the action, but also glad of being in the relative safety of the main cabin, under all the swaddling.

'_I wonder how Oliver is_?' Celia mused, wanting to think of anything but what was happening mere feet away from her, even the gentle Irishman, though it pained her to do so. '_I hope Jack didn't lie about not… killing him_.' She shuddered violently at the thought, feeling sicker than she already did. '_No… Jack's not like that_. _He wouldn't kill a man in cold blood_.' She peered at Peter as the sound of cheering erupted on the decks on the pirate ship, followed almost immediately by stampeding feet as they scrambled to get on board the merchant carrier and claim her prize.

"Looks like we got her," the young lad grinned, hurling the covers off himself and clambering out, haring across the deck to the door.

"Peter!" Celia called, much slower to free herself and rise. "Wait! I don't think you should…" she trailed off as she found herself alone in the cabin. "Go out…" she finished with a sigh, as she walked to the window at the side of the door and peered out, gasping at the mayhem on the deck of the other ship. '_Please let Jack be all right_,' she prayed, quite without thinking, and she reached for her rosary beads, realising with a start that she had not worn them for a number of days, so instead Celia pressed her forehead against the glass, biting her lip as the pirates over-ran the seamen until they were finally subdued, relieved to catch a glimpse of Jack seemingly safe, but in the thick of the action. She finally turned away, not wanting to watch any more in case the pirates ran true to form and slaughtered the innocent crew, and wandered to the stern seat, sitting down and covering her face with her hands as weariness took over.

"Miss Celia? Th'Cap'n sent me back ter watch over yer," Peter smiled hesitantly. "I'll go if yer want me ter…"

"No," the young woman assured him with a forced smile. "I'm all right, come back in. It's not place for a lad out there."

"Why?" he puzzled as he walked over. "Ain't nothin' goin' on 'cept th'cap'n organisin' th'stuff ter be brought over before he fires th'ship."

"_What_?" Celia exploded, jumping to her feet and running from the cabin and over the the port rail where the two ships were lashed together with ropes. She scanned the deck of the merchant carrier, trying desperately to find a sign of Jack, then looked at a boarding plank, bridging the gap over the sea which was swirling against the two hulls, and she gulped before placing a faltering foot on the plank, following by the other one.

"What in th'name of all that is good, are you _doin'_?'' Jack cried from the opposing deck as he emerged from a hatch. "Don't you dare take another step forwards, y'hear?"

"J-Jack… y-ou c-can't k-kill them," Celia stammered, frozen to the spot, unable to move forwards _or_ backwards to the safety of the deck of the pirate ship. "P-please d-don't k-kill t-them…"

Jack sighed and grabbed a free rope, swinging back to his ship, seizing the young woman around the waist and hauling her to safety. "Kill them?" he enquired, raising his eyebrows. "Why th'hell do you think we're goin' ter kill them?"

"P-Peter said you w-were going to f-fire the ship," she panted, leaning her head against his shoulder and drawing comfort from the contact.

"When will you ever learn?" Jack sighed exasperatedly, raising a hand in despair. "I don't do things like that, luv. Look…" he took Celia up the quarterdeck steps and to the stern, pointing at a small flotilla of boats rowing frantically away from the merchant vessel. "That's th'crew - we released them first, savvy?"

"Oh. I see… Oh, I'm sorry, Jack," she gulped, avoiding his gaze until he lifted her chin so she was facing him.

"We're not all savages, Celia," he smiled kindly, kissing the tip of her nose. "Now get back inside and bolt th'door until I come back, eh?"

"All right," she nodded, feeling very small and stupid as she followed him back down the steps. "I don't need Peter with me, you know. I'll be perfectly safe."

"Yer sure?" Jack grinned, patting her bottom as she turned for the door. "You have a reprieve, Master Swain," he called to the youngster who had vacated the cabin once again and was standing by the port quarterdeck rail, watching the comings and goings on the other ship.

"_Jack_…" Celia turned around to scold him, but the pirate captain was already swaying across the deck, wanting to carry on overseeing the movement of the sugar and spices from one ship to the other.

Celia was still shaking her head to herself as she threw the bolt on the cabin door and padded over to the stern seat, frowning as she noticed the stern window ajar. '_I'm sure this wasn't open… maybe Peter opened it_.' She picked up her holy book, looking wistfully at it and wishing she could somehow regain her innocence, but acknowledging deep down that she would probably make the same choice again. She leaned against the window frame, closing her eyes as she tried in vain to feel guilt at what she and the pirate captain had done the past few days, and feeling the cool breeze ruffle her hair.

"Get up an' don't make a sound," an ugly voice snarled and Celia's eyes shot open again, staring in horror at the scarred man holding a dagger to her neck.

"_Jack_!" she shrieked automotically, ignoring the man's warning and was rewarded by his hand slapping her hard across the face.

"Yer stupid fuckin' whore!" he growled, grabbing her hair and yanking her to her feet and pressing the cold blade harder against her throat. "One more sound an' yer've had it."

"Celia? Are you all right, pet?" came Joshamee Gibbs' voice from outside the cabin door. "Celia?"

"Don't," the man hissed into her ear.

"B-but… h-he will wonder w-why I'm not answering," she stammered. "Y-you can't possibly hope to escape."

"Shut yer fuckin' mouth b'fore I shut it fer ya. Now move, nice an' slowly…"

"Jack!" the quartermaster shouted across to the other ship. "I think there's something amiss."

"What?" the captain of the _Black Pearl_ enquired worriedly as he ran over the gangplank.

"I heard Celia scream your name and then it went quiet."

Jack hurried to his cabin and tried the door handle without success. "Celia? Open th'door."

Both men looked startled as the bolt was thrown and the door jerked opened, a pale and frightened Celia emerging first with the man pressed right against her, his dagger marking her neck, his other hand holding on tightly around her waist.

"I demand safe passge," he growled. "Or yer pretty little lady friend gets it… ah, ah," he warned as Jack made to move forward. "Back off." He jabbed the knife a little harder, drawing blood.

"J-Jack," Celia gasped, beseeching him with her eyes.

"All right," Jack soothed, holding his hands out to show he was unarmed and moving backwards, motioning for Gibbs to do the same. Both men tried desperately not to look up at Peter Swain who was clinging onto the quarterdeck railing above the young woman and her captor, in case they gave the game away. "Why didn't you go with th'rest of your crew?" Jack asked, trying to distract the man.

"Ha!" he snorted. "'Cause I killed one o'th'bastards, didn't I? One of yer _thick_ men unlocked th'brig an' let me go," he chuckled mirthlessly as he inched himself and Celia forward.

"Let her go an' you have my word that you'll get a safe passage," Jack assured him, nodding his head slightly, his hand going straight to his sword as Peter launched himself onto the back of the man, grappling with him as Celia fell forward into the arms of Joshamee, who ushered her to safety, leaving his captain to deal with the stowaway.

"Nobody steals aboard _my_ ship," Jack hissed menacingly, grabbing the man's lank hair and hauling him to his feet once the ship's boy let go of the fugitive. "An' _nobody_ hurts defenceless young women." He dispassionately ran the man through, looking with distaste as his body fell to the deck. "Bastard," he uttered, wiping his sword on the dead man's clothes before stretching out his hand to Peter. "Well done, lad. Dunno what we'd have done without yer."

"I shouldn't have left her alone," the boy fretted. "Yer wanted me ter look after 'er."

"An' yer did," Jack reasoned. "Better than you would have done inside th'cabin, savvy?"

"Thanks, Cap'n," he smiled shyly, basking in the praise.

"Are you all right, luv?" Jack enquired, turning on his heel and going over to Celia who was wrapped in the portly man's arms, sobbing.

"F-fine…" she gasped, shuddering.

"Come on, let's get you inside." Jack took her from Gibbs' arms and led her to the cabin, eager to get her away from the prying eyes of the crew who were making their way back over, having heard the commotion. "Did you have th'window open?" he asked gently as he looked around his cabin for signs as to where the man could have got inside.

"N-no. I-I thought P-Peter opened it…"

"All right," he soothed, sitting her in his chair then fetching the pitcher of water from the private head. "Put yer head back fer me." Jack carefully washed away the blood with a damp rag, frowning as he saw the cut was longer and deeper than he had realised. "Bloody hell," he swore.

"What?" Celia fretted, chewing on her lip. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin', luv," he assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "It's just that you'll have a scar, I'm afraid… I can't believe he managed ter break in," he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry. I thought yer'd be safer locked in here than out on th'deck."

"I-it doesn't matter," she gulped, wiping her tears with her shirtsleeves. "No harm done, eh?"

"Come on," Jack urged, taking her hands and helping her to her feet and holding her tightly. "I'm so sorry, luv."

"Cap'n? Yer need me?" Matthias Swain enquired, hovering by the door, feeling unsure whether he'd be welcomed or not.

"Aye, Celia has a cut," Jack beckoned, moving away from the young woman and sitting her back down again. "Your lad did well."

"He did," Matty grinned proudly, opening his small case and taking out a crock bottle and pulling the cork from it. "More fearless than me, that's fer sure," he chuckled as he tipped the bottle up and poured some of its contents onto a rag and pressed it against Celia's neck, making sympathetic noises as she winced. "It'll heal it up faster."

"Thank you," she smiled weakly, clasping her hands together to stop them from trembling. "It won't need stitching, will it?"

"Ooh, I dunno," the ship's doctor pondered, taking the rag away and peering at the cut. "Nah, yer should be all right. But yer'll have a scar."

"I know, Jack… Captain Sparrow, said. Go on," she said to Jack. "I know you're needed out there - I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Jack mused, looking at her warily. "Yer've had a heck of a shock…"

"Time I started toughening up," Celia shrugged, holding the compress against her neck. "But could you both check the cabin before you go, please?" she asked timidly, biting her lip and ruefully musing to herself that her newfound toughness had just failed at the first hurdle.

"Every nook an' cranny," Jack assured her as he and his crewman did as she asked until everywhere possible had been searched to Celia's satisfaction.

"Yes, I'll bolt the door," she smiled as Jack opened his mouth to say something.

"No, I was goin' ter tell you _not _ter bolt th'door. I'll post a couple of guards, savvy?"

"All right," Celia agreed, feeling happier with the idea but her smile fading once the two men had vacated the cabin. '_I will **not**__cry_!' she scolded, taking some deep breaths to compose herself. '_I can't keep behaving like a silly little girl - Celia Hammond the novice has gone, it's time to become Celia Hammond the woman_.'

…

"Yer lookin' fer crew?" Oliver asked hopefully as he approached a man standing by the gangplank of a sloop moored at the quayside of Saint Marta.

"Might be. Why yer lookin'?"

"I got drunk an' missed th'ship," the Irishman lied smoothly, reckoning his chances would be better if he kept the fact he had fallen out with his captain, quiet. "It's th'first time it's happened," he added. "I can usually hold me drink, but th'stuff here is a little more potent than I'm used ter."

"Aye," the bulky man chuckled. "I know what yer mean. What position did yer hold?"

"Deckhand," he lied again. "Although I can take th'helm."

"Ya can? Hmm, th'cap'n might be interested in takin' yer on then - our helm died a month or so back an' we ain't managed ter find another one."

"Actually," Oliver admitted with a rueful grin. "I'm a helmsman - I thought I might have better luck gettin' a position as a deckhand than a senior crewman."

"Come aboard. Sam Tate," the man grinned, holding out his hand.

"Oliver Fernan," he replied, shaking hands then following Tate up the gangplank. "Yer reckon I'm in with a chance?"

"I reckon so - were yer with th'_Queen Charlotte_?"

Oliver frowned, then remembered the schooner that his former captain had been so interested in, that was no longer in the harbour. "Aye, aye - th'_Queen Charlotte_," he bluffed, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Cap'n Timms!" the man called. "I have a helmsman here…"

"Yer a helm?" the gruff captain enquired, looking Oliver up and down with something akin to disgust. "All right - yer hired," he announced then disappeared down a hatch.

"I am?" Oliver queried, looking startled at Sam Tate.

"Evidently," Tate shrugged. "Yer'll get used ter him… _maybe_!"

"That bad, eh?"

"You'll see," Oliver's new crewmate chuckled wryly. "You'll see…"

…


	24. Chapter 24

Nope – still not mine!

With thanks for the reviews – those on affnet are going to have a pile of chapters to trawl through once it's up and running…

Also thanks to Kat for editing, as usual.

…

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Celia jumped in spite of herself as Jack bounded into the cabin an excited grin on his face and his arms flailing wildly. "Oh! Y-you made me jump!" she gasped, placing her hands against her pounding heart.

"Sorry, luv," Jack chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and brushing his lips against hers. "How's yer neck?"

"A bit sore, but I'm all right," she smiled, pressing her lips harder to his and congraluating herself on not being shocked at her own actions. "Are you stopping here for a while?"

"No, I just came ter warn you that we'll be firin' th'guns in a minute. Want ter come an' watch?"

"All right," she agreed hesitantly, accepting his outstretched hand and followed him on to the main deck, noticing that the crew's attention was held by the schooner, the _Queen Charlotte_, anchored some quarter of a mile away.

"When yer ready, Mister Frazer," Jack called, pushing a path through the thong of men and letting Celia stand in front of him so she had a good view and he had a chance to wrap his arms around her, holding tight as the _Pearl_ boomed and shook, followed by another boom and a huge explotion as the schooner blew up, sending debris flying high and wide. "Keep watch fer tinders," he ordered, although he did not expect any. The ship was at a safe enough distance with the wind blowing away from them for there to be little danger. But Jack was nothing if not a cautious captain, especially where his ship was concerned, and so all his crew kept a look-out for any burning piece of wreckage that might somehow find its way to the _Black Pearl_.

"Oh… my goodness!" Celia breathed, letting out the breath she was unaware she had been holding. "W-why did you blow it up?"

"Because it would slow us down too much an' leave both ships short of crew," Jack explained. "If we were nearer ter Tortuga or somesuch place, then we'd have taken her an' sold her on, but out here - nah, too risky."

"I see. It just seems such a waste."

"Aye, luv, it is," Jack nodded, his hair braids brushing against her cheek with the movement. "But at least I let th'crew go, eh?" he teased.

"Yes…" Celia sighed. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Yer forgiven," he whispered huskily in her ear. "I think we'll have supper in my cabin tonight, eh?"

"All right," she blushed, casting her gaze at the deck in case any of the nearby crew overheard.

"You'll have ter get used ter this sometime, young lady," Jack chuckled, hugging her.

"Give me chance," Celia retorted but without malice. "It's only been three days or so, that's nowhere near long enough to lose my_ indoctrined _guilt, as you call it."

"But it doesn't bother you?" he enquired, releasing his hold and slipping his hand into hers.

"It does a little," she admitted. "But nowhere near as much as it should do…"

"Rubbish!" Jack laughed, bringing her hand up and kissing it. "Look lively, lads," he called. "They would have heard that in Saint Marta an' we don't want _another_ chase, do we?"

"I'll leave you to it. No doubt Toby has a pile of spuds that need peeling," she sighed, rolling her eyes for good measure.

"Make sure he let's yer go early enough fer you to bathe an' change into that red dress, eh?" Jack remarked, loud enough for the crew to hear.

"Yes, Captain," Celia replied resignedly, bobbing her tongue out at Elliot as she passed him on the steps leading below. '_I **am** going to have to get used to this_,' she mused as she made her way along the gloomy corridor to the galley. '_Or the next few months are going to be difficult to bear_.'

…

"I am goin' ter _have_ ter buy a tub," Jack drawled as he leaned against the doorframe of the private head, watching Celia as she washed herself.

"I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me!" she cried, automatically going to cover her nakedness before realising the folly of it. "You'll be the death of me, Jack Sparrow!"

"As you will of me," he grinned, his eyes raking her body. "Let me clean yer back…"

"Tobias will be along with supper soon."

"I'm just cleanin' yer back!" Jack protested, a mock innocent look on his face as he took the rag from her grasp and turned her around, gently rubbing the cloth in a circular motion across her shoulders. "Aren't I?" he whispered huskily, the rag travelling downwards until he reached the small of her back, a place which he had discovered would send her half mad with lust when stroked in a certain way.

"No," Celia croaked, arching her back at his touch. "You never _just_ do anything. And _why_ do you need to buy a tub, apart from finally cleaning yourself properly for the first time in years?"

"Celia Hammond, yer cheeky minx!" he retorted, spanking her bottom, but not too hard. "You suggesting I'm dirty?"

"Very," she giggled, trying to move away from him in the cramped space but ending up sitting on the head and putting her hands on his chest to prevent him getting closer.

"That ain't goin' ter stop me," he growled, a wolfish grin on his face as he grabbed her wrists and removed her hands. "See?"

"Jack… Toby will be here…"

"He knows not ter enter th'cabin now," Jack reminded her. "Th'food can wait, eh?"

"But if you don't let him in then everyone will know…"

"They know anyway!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes at her.

"_Please_," Celia begged, beseeching him with her eyes. "I just don't want the whole ship to know _exactly_ what we're doing and when we're doing it."

"They still know what we do, y'know," Jack reasoned, placing his knees either side of her hips and pressing his groin into hers. "So what does it matter, eh?" He gently rubbed himself against her, his grin broadening as she squirmed and moaned.

"Stop it! That's not fair!"

"Alls fair in love an' war," he chuckled, pressing harder still, a small moan eliciting his own lips as his hard organ strained against his breeches. "Come on, luv," Jack urged, standing and pulling Celia to her feet and turning them both around whilst fumbling with the laces of his breeches.

"We can't…"

"No such word. There…" he grinned as he finally untied them and yanked his breeches down, grunting as his erection sprang free. Jack sat down on the head and pulled Celia towards him. "Sit on me," he instructed, taking his hat off and slinging it to one side.

"On your lap or on… _you_?"

"_Me_ _… _come on, luv."

Celia did as Jack had done earlier and put her knees either side of him so that she was hovering over him and started to slowly lower herself down, gasping as she felt the tip of his manhood press against her. "Keep going?" she fretted.

"Aye, all th'way down." Jack groaned and arched his back as she lowered herself on to him until he was fully sheathed inside her, her warm tunnel still tight in spite of the number of times he had had her over the past few days. "Now move up an' down," he gasped, closing his eyes in bliss as she did as instructed. "Slower…"

Celia leaned her hands on Jack's shoulders for support and slowly rode him, forgetting about feeling guilty or who might hear them as she allowed her body to totally relax and enjoy the sensation of being in control of their loving. "Like it?" she whispered in his ear, the tip of her tongue playing around inside it.

"Very… very… much…"

"Me too," she chuckled, sliding her hands down his chest and then up inside his shirt, pulling it over his head so that he was almost as naked as she. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts in his face and moaning out loud as he took a nipple in his mouth, teasing the bud with his tongue as she quickened her pace until forced to slow it again by his hands grasping her hips. "I want to go faster."

"No. Not yet," Jack murmured. "Make it last, eh?"

"I can't," Celia pouted, her body tensing as her desire grew. "Please, Jack."

"See how long you can hold out, hmm? You'll enjoy it even more then, I promise." He kept firm hold of her as he played with nipples, thrusting deeper inside every now and then, revelling in her reaction as she groaned and writhed then grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and kissing him hard with lust plumped lips.

"P-please…" she gasped as she broke away, gulping audibly as pent up desire made her even more edgy. "Jack, _please_…"

"Please, what? " Jack teased, his fingers digging into her skin as he too fought to keep control. "Tell me what you want, luv."

"Y-you know what I want! I want to… oh!" Celia cried out as Jack stood with her in his arms and turned them both around, pressing her against the bulkhead as he drove hard into her and she wound her legs around him, bringing him in deeper still. "Harder," she urged, not able to do anything except hold on as he pounded her until her passion spilled over and she cried out again and again, gasping as she felt him release his seed deep within her, thrusting harder and deeper until with a grunt, he sagged and released his hold on her so that Celia was sitting back on the head, panting and gasping.

"Bloody hell," Jack muttered, sinking to his knees and resting his head in her lap.

"Bloody hell, indeed," she wheezed, stroking his hair where it spilled from the bandana.

"Supper, Cap'n!" came Toby's voice. "Can I come in?"

"Aye, leave it on th'table," Jack replied, inwardly cursing his timing in case Celia started fretting once more. "Sorry, luv," he apologised, lifting his head and looking at her.

"It's all right," she smiled, realising the logic of his earlier reasoning. "I was just being silly."

"You're never silly," Jack stated, lifting himself up so that he could kiss her gently. "A little crazy at times, but that's no bad thing on this ship," he chuckled.

"I would say it's mandatory," she laughed, cupping his head with her hand and drawing him in to another, lingering kiss.

"So… you love me…?"

"Oh! Yes," Celia admitted with a blush. "I know that… well… it doesn't matter," she shrugged. "Let's dress, shall we?"

"Or we could have supper in bed," Jack suggested, as he debated whether to press the matter further before deciding against it. It was obviously not something she had wanted to admit and he still wasn't sure how to react to the revelation. He had had women say that they loved him countless times before, but Jack knew that this was probably the first time a woman had actually meant it since Isabel.

"You can sweep the crumbs out," she retorted, grateful for the change of subject.

"That's your job!" Jack frowned with mock severity.

"Oh, really, Captain? I thought my job was keeping you happy," Celia purred, astonishing herself by running a finger across his balls.

"Jesus, woman!" Jack swore, closing his eyes as the fires of lust stoked once more. "Supper - now!" he ordered, getting to his feet quickly and walking out of the small side cabin.

"Old man," she teased as she followed him, smiling as he padded to the cabin door and threw the bolt, ensuring they would not be disturbed. "Supper in the bunk?"

"Aye," Jack grinned, padding back to the table and picking up a tray and a pitcher of wine, leaving another tray and two beakers for Celia to bring. "Nothin' like supper in bed."

"I'll take your word for it," Celia mused, picking up the remaining items and carrying them to the side cabin. "I've never had _any_ meal in bed."

"Even when you were ill?"

"I was one of those horrid children who were never ill," she admitted. "Mind you, Mama would not allow other children to come and play very often so I suppose I didn't get much chance to become ill." Celia placed the tray down on the bunk and climbed carefully up, snuggling into Jack's arms and taking a piece of meat, breaking it into a bite sized piece before offering it to him, giggling as he took her fingers into his mouth as well and sucked on them. "I don't know what Mama would think now - seeing her daughter behave like a brazen hussy," she mused, a little sadly.

"There's nothin' brazen or hussy-like about you, Celia," Jack murmured. "Yer far too sweet an' innocent ter be a trollop."

"Not any more," she replied heavily. "Maybe I should have let Robert have his way with me - I might be married to him now and living happily."

"Ah, but then you'd never have met me!" Jack teased. "Would he have made you happy?"

Celia started, turning and looking at Jack in bewilderment, a frown creasing her brow as she thought. "I-I… I honestly don't know," she disclosed. "I always assumed that he would, but… I'm starting to feel as if my life in England was a sham - that I was not… oh, I don't know!" she sighed in exasperation as she struggled to explain herself clearly.

"True ter yourself?" Jack suggested.

"I don't know," she pondered. "I always thought that I was being _true to myself_ - so if I was, am I now lying to myself?"

"Or perhaps th'other way round, eh? Could it be that th'real Celia Hammond is startin' ter emerge?"

"Hmm," Celia mused thoughtfully. "Maybe..."

"Can I ask you another question? Did you prefer Fernan ter me but held back because he was married?"

"Why the inquision?" Celia frowned, turning once more to look at him. "You have what you wanted."

"I've had yer body, yes," Jack agreed. "But do I have _you_?"

"You should know!" she snapped, making to get off the bunk but prevented from doing so by Jack's restraining hand. "Let go!"

"It's possible ter love more than one person at once, y'know," he reasoned evenly as he kept hold of her. "Did… _do_ you love Oliver?"

"_Jack_! Let go of me!"

"I'll take that as a yes then, eh? It doesn't matter, luv," he soothed. "I don't mind."

"No, now that he's out of the way and you have no rival!"

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Jack frowned, loosing his hold on the young woman and making her nearly overbalance.

"True though," came her riposte as she clambered down then stood and glared at him.

"Possibly," he admitted with a shrug. "But as I said earlier, alls fair et cetera, et cetera. Come on, let's not fight, eh? Come back here."

"I'm not hungry," Celie sniped as she stomped out of the side cabin.

"Fer food or me?" Jack called, a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Sod off!"

"Ooh, turnin' nasty, are we?" he chuckled, jumping down and padding quickly into the main cabin, grinning to himself when he saw her bending over a trunk in search of some clothes and he hurried over before she had chance to react or straighten up.

"Let go!" she shrieked as he grabbed her and pressed his growing erection against her backside. "Don't you dare!"

"Or else, Miss Hammond?" he purred, holding her down with one hand while the other eased his manhood inside her.

"You… _bastard_!" she moaned, bracing herself against the trunk and gasping as she felt him continue to grow inside her.

"Aye, but don't yer love it?" Jack laughed lasciviously as he took her once more.

…

"Saint Paul?" Jack sighed as he hugged Celia to him in the bunk, both of them sated and exhausted. "Do you know how many churches there are with _that_ name?"

"Quite a few," Celia chuckled, her anger with the pirate captain long since forgotten.

"Even _I _know there are quite a few. There must be another clue."

"Maybe I should have come and had a look at the grave," she suggested, striking the inside of his thigh absently.

"I was goin' ter come an' fetch you, but…"

"So the clue must be something else," she mused, deliberately ignoring the reason why he had not come for her.

"Aye, but what?"

"What was the name again - Allport?"

"Roy Allport… it doesn't ring any bells at all," Jack sighed.

"And there was nothing else on the grave?"

"Only… what was it? '_I have kept th'faith_…'"

'_Unlike me_,' Celia thought sadly. "It _is_ Saint Paul then - those were his last words."

"It doesn't help much," Jack pouted, shifting his position slightly so that her hand would travel further up his leg.

"Well, we'll have to sleep on it," she said firmly, removing her hand when she realised his intentions. "I'm exhausted."

"No stamina, you youngsters!" he teased as he snuggled down. "Night, luv."

"Goodnight, Jack," she replied, lying awake in his arms long after he had fallen asleep, wondering about Saint Paul and Oliver.

…

**Three days later**

"Sail ho!"

Celia looked up from where she was polishing the grating and she stood, staring along with the rest of the crew, towards where Jacob Sumner was pointing but like the rest of the crew, not being able to see anything.

"Can you see what it is, Sumner?" Jack called - this close to Port Royal, he did not want to take any chances.

"Sorry Cap'n, th'sun's in my eyes."

"Damn!" the captain of the pirate ship cursed as he took out his spyglass and trained it in the general direction of where the ship was but finding his problem was the same as his watchman's.

Celia groaned, half hoping that it would be a naval ship which would hasten their speed towards Tortuga as she was eager to see her friends again and ask their advice. She knew that there was something the whores took to prevent them getting with child and she was keen to find out what and whether she'd be able to have some - the last thing she wanted was to be pregnant aboard a pirate ship, or pregnant at all.

"Navy!" Noah Trinity yelled from higher up the mainmast. "It's Navy, Cap'n!"

"Must be patrollin' th'waters," Jack sighed, rolling his eyes at his quartermaster. "Although they're a fair way out fer patrol…"

"Maybe they're heading back to Port Royal?" Joshamee Gibbs suggested with a shrug. "Been to another base…?"

"Bloody hell!" Jack exclaimed loud enough for the entire main deck to stop what they were doing and turn and look at him. "Port Royal!"

"Aye, what about it?" the older man frowned.

"Roy Allport…"

"Port Royal…" Gibbs sighed. "And yes, there is a church of Saint Paul in Port Royal…"

"Wouldn't yer know it?" Jack mused, shaking his head half in amusement.

"You're not thinking of going there… are you?" Celia fretted, although the gleam in Jack's eyes told her all she needed to know. "It's dangerous!"

"That's what makes it fun!" Jack chortled. "Don't worry, I know Port Royal like th'back of my hand."

"Yer know th'gaol in th'fort like th'back of yer hand, an' all!" Matthias Swain observed, having been one of the rescue party the last time that Jack had managed to get himself captured.

"I won't get caught this time, savvy?"

"That's what you said _last_ time," Joshamee reminded his captain sternly. "Celia's right, it _is_ dangerous."

"But we're getting' closer, Gibbs - I can feel it!" Jack grinned. "It'll be safe if only a handful of us go - th'ship can hide in th'cove, eh?"

"And if they patrol around that way?"

"Gibbs… _Gibbs_… you worry too much!"

"And you don't worry enough!" came the risposte.

"You worry enough fer both of us… Port Royal, Mister Burford - at least, th'cove to th'east of Port Royal, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," the helmsman agreed, wondering along with the rest of his crewmates at his captain's wisdom, especially if the Navy _were_ patrolling the waters.

"What if that ship spotted us?" Celia asked quietly as she moved to stand beside Jack. "Won't they be extra vigilant?"

"They assume that we're headin' fer Tortua," Jack assured her. "At least I _hope_ they'll think that… Mister Burford, I think we'll take it nice an' easy, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Myles nodded, feeling a little more relieved that they wouldn't be getting any closer to the naval ship.

"Keep a sharp eye on on them," Jack ordered his crew. "They could change tack an' head fer us! I suppose I get carried away sometimes," he shrugged ruefully at Celia. "At least I've got you ter remind me of my responsibilities."

"How long before we get back to Tortuga?"

"You're eager, aren't you?" he mused, cocking his head sideways and regarding her. "Had enough of my company already?"

"No! I mean… I just miss my friends, that's all."

"I know," Jack sympathised. "You've coped better than I thought yer would, being on board."

"Why thank you," Celia smiled. "But I had better get this grating polished or the captain will have my guts for garters."

"Ah, but I bet they'd make pretty garters," he winked, patting her backside as she moved past him. "Sorry, luv - couldn't resist."

"You never can!" she scolded with a chuckle, her smile fading once she turned away from Jack, the worry of becoming pregnant escalating more by the minute.

…

"Cap'n! Yer not goin' ter believe this!" Gabriel Jennings panted as he re-joined his captain, John Orchard and Thomas Frazer after going scouting on the outskirts of Port Royal. "There's some bad news and worse news…" He handed Jack a piece of paper which Jack read, wide eyed and frowning.

The Governor of the British Territories in the Caribbean, is pleased to announce one days public holiday to celebrate the marriage of Commodore James Norrington to Miss Daphne Blythe-Hamilton on the second day of March in the year sixteen hundred and eighty nine, at the church of Saint Paul in the town of Port Royal. All rejoice!

"He does this deliberately," Jack sighed as he continued to stare at the paper. "I swear he does…"

"Th'place is already crawlin' with redbacks," Gabriel announced, "so I guess th'weddin' ain't far off."

"We're goin' ter have ter come back," Thomas frowned.

"But what if th'treasure is in that church?" Jack argued. "They'll go though th'place with a fine tooth comb an' find it b'fore we do!"

"It wouldn't be there, would it…?" John Orchard worried. "Why would anyone bury their treasure under th'noses of th'Navy?"

"Because," Jack explained, "this place was a pirate haven back then, an' Goodluck was a privateer so would be able ter come an' go a little more freely than other pirates would have done."

"So what d'we do now?"

"We need William…"

"But they watch him closely, don't they?"

"Aye," Jack sighed, knowing how difficult it had been to get to see his friend the last couple of times he had been here. The time before that, Jack had actually been captured, though thankfully, not in Will's presence thus clearing him of any association with the infamous pirate captain. "We'll head back an' work somethin' out - though gawd knows what," he frowned, uttering more than one curse towards his nemesis under his breath as he stood and headed for the track which eventually lead to the cove in which his precious ship was sheltering.

…

"You want me to _what_?" Celia exploded, staring wide eyed and slack jawed at Jack. "So much for not putting me in danger!"

"You won't _be_ in danger," Jack assured her with a charming smile, hoping to win her around to his plan. "Alls you have ter do…"

"Yes, you've told me!" she snapped, folding her arms crossly. "You want me to pretend that I'm one of… Miss _Blythe-Hamilton's_ maids and scout the church - alone!"

"Not alone," he argued. "Some of th'crew will be around as well, just in case."

"And if they get recognised?"

"It will be crew that aren't known to th'Navy - not all of them are."

"I feel so re-assured," Celia sniped sarcastically. "You said after Saint Georges that you wouldn't put me in any danger…"

"I'm _not_," Jack sighed with exasperation. "How can they capture you when you have done nothing wrong, eh? Association isn't a crime, yet."

"But what if they question me - don't believe that I am who I say I am? What if this Commodore or his fiancée are in the church? What then, Jack?"

"Then, my darlin' Celia, yer leave - sharpish, savvy?"

"And if I'm noticed leaving _sharpish_?"

"You _won't_ be… come on, luv. Th'sooner yer go, th'sooner we can leave, eh?" Jack took a couple of steps towards the young woman and wound his arms around her, drawing her closer and looking at her beneath his lashes. "I'll be so grateful…"

"Jack! Stop it!" Celia protested, trying to pull away from his embrace but already feeling warm desire stoking up inside her. "_Stop_ it!" she repeated, moaning as his mouth closed over hers.

"Y'know I can't where you're concerned," he rasped, barely breaking contact with his lips. "Will yer do it - fer me?"

"I hate you," she muttered as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him.

"So you've said before…" Jack chuckled, picking her up and carrying her to the bunk. "An' as I replied before, there's a fine line between love an' hate…"

"Not at the moment there isn't," she retorted, groaning as his expert hands began roving her clothed body and weakening her resolve ever further.

…


	25. Chapter 25

Usual disclaimers and I can't wait for the film to come out!

Sorry it's taken so long to post this up, I'll try and get more with it in future :rolleyes:

…

**Chapter Twenty-five**

"Mornin', Miss."

Celia tried hard not to jump as a marine guarding the gateway to the church spoke to her, but instead forced a smile and bobbed a curtsey. "Good morning," she nodded. "It is all right if I go and visit the grave of my grandmother, isn't it?" She decided that pretending to be a maid of the bride was pushing the boundaries of reality just a little too far and so had made up a story of her own.

"Of course, Miss. The wedding ain't for another two days – though you wouldn't believe it to look at all the fuss!"

"Well, it _is_ the Commodore," she giggled, feeling emboldened and rather pleased with herself and wondered what Jack would make of it from where he and some of the men were hiding and watching.

"Off you go, Miss, and if any of the men question you, tell them Lieutenant Murtogg said it was all right for you to go through."

"I am most grateful to you, Lieutenant," Celia smiled coyly, hoping against hope that Jack could see that at least.

"Bloody hell," Jack hissed almost inaudibly. "Yer could pick someone better ter flirt with than Murtogg! At least he's a soft touch, though…"

'_Where to start_?' Celia mused to herself as she surreptitiously glanced around to make sure no-one was looking at her before studying the gravestones nearest to her then moving on and praying that it would not take too long to find what she wanted – if it was indeed there at all. She held her breath as two officious looking naval men passed by her, each doffing their hats and bowing their heads in respect but paying her no more heed once they had gone by, and it took all of Celia's willpower not to exhale loudly. With another furtive glance at the marine guarding the gate to make sure he had not noticed she wasn't stopping at one particular grave, Celia carried about her task.

"Come on, come on…" Jack urged from his hiding place, panicking now that the young woman was no longer in sight.

"She'll be all right, Cap'n," José Santos assured him with a blackened grin.

"Shhh," Jack glowered, feeling decidedly nervous about the amount of marines there were in and around the churchyard and now wishing he had not asked Celia to do this.

"Oh!" Celia stopped by a grave and peered at it, her heart pounding with excitement as she realised it looked exactly as the other two had done. Her fingers traced around the carving of a blindfolded man, working on an anvil and she bit her lip as she realised who it represented. She turned and went to hurry from the graveyard but realised it would look suspicious and so forced herself to appear calm as she strolled back towards the gate and the marine guarding it. "Good day, Lieutenant Murtogg," she smiled as she exited the grounds. "And thank you, once more."

"It's a pleasure, Miss. Will you be coming to catch a glimpse of the bride?"

"Alas, no," she sighed, edging away and wishing he would shut up. "I won't be able to make it."

"That's a pity," the naval man sighed ruefully. "Good day, Miss."

'_Thank goodness for that_,' Celia thought, her words echoing exactly what Jack was thinking at the same time.

"_Pirates_!"

Celia gasped as the shout went up and bit down a cry of alarm as Jack, José, Elliot, and Josia Phelps all ran from their hiding place with a number of marines in pursuit, firing their pistols as they gave chase and thankfully missing so far as she could see. She sent up a swift prayer that Jack and the others would be safe and then turned and made her way towards the town of Port Royal and to the blacksmiths workshop where Jack had assured her she would find shelter and help if the worst came to the worst. '_Well it has now_…' she thought, her heart still pounding with fear as she walked along the lane.

…

"Hello, can I help you, Madam?"

"Ah… erm, it's Miss, actually, and I hope so."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Is it safe to talk?" Celia enquired as she regarded the man before her, taking in his open expression and dark brown eyes, which held a gentler look than her lovers did.

"Safe from whom?" he mused, frowning and wondering who the young woman was and why she was so nervous. "Are you in trouble?"

"Of sorts," Celia admitted ruefully. "You _are_ Will Turner, aren't you?"

"Yes…"

"I need to get back to Jack and the _Black Pearl_," she gabbled quickly, only stopping when the blacksmith started in surprise. "We got separated and I need to get to the cove but I don't know the way…"

"Whoa! Hold on… let's start from the beginning, shall we, Miss…?"

"Sorry – Hammond, Celia Hammond, I'm… _with_ Jack…"

"I see," Will mused, nodding slowly as he pondered whether asking what such an obviously well bred woman was doing with such an irrepressible rogue as his friend, would be too forward of him, disregarding the fact that most of the town thought exactly the same of he and his wife. "And just what is Jack doing here?

"On a treasure hunt, of sorts… the clues are on gravestones and I had to go and find the next clue in the churchyard of Saint Paul's…"

"Saint Paul's…? Is he mad? No, don't answer that! Did he know about the wedding?"

"Oh yes," Celia sighed, "but he thought that the treasure might be there and he didn't want the Navy finding it first."

"So he sent you? He's unbelievable," Will sighed. "I'd better get you to Elizabeth – it's be too late to go to the cove now."

"Oh… I suppose it will be," she frowned, biting her lip as she did. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm with Jack?"

"Yes," Will chuckled, "but wait until I get you home then you can tell both of us."

…

"Bloody hell!" Jack swore, wiping sweat from his brow with the end of his bandana, glad to be securely aboard his ship. "You sure you saw Celia walking away safely?" he demanded of Elliot Deane who was nursing a graze on his shoulder.

"Aye," he winced as Matthias Swain applied a potion to it. "She definitely started walkin' towards th'town."

"I just hope she finds Will's all right," Jack worried, looking in the direction of the town. "He won't risk bringin' her tonight," he mused, mostly to himself. "So we'll put guards along th'path before first light… no, we'll put guards along th'path tonight. Gibbs arrange it."

"Aye, captain," the quartermaster complied, going about his task immediately, and choosing men he knew from experience would stay awake and more importantly, alert.

"Th'rest of th'ship will be on watch on board, savvy?" Jack called out. "I am not riskin' th'bloody Navy findin' us here like sittin' ducks."

"Shouldn't've took th'chance on goin' ashore now, then, should ya?" Adam Butler muttered darkly beneath his breath and shooting his captain a withering look behind his back.

"Shut it!" Gabriel Jennings hissed, shoving his erstwhile crewmate on the shoulder. "Yer gob will land yer in trouble sooner or later, an' I just hope it's sooner."

"Are you two bloody well fighting _again_?" Jack snapped, glaring angrily at both of them. "Sort it out or I throw yer both off, savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Gabriel nodded. "Bastard!" he hissed to Adam, pushing past him roughly to volunteer for shore watch duties, knowing full well that Butler wouldn't go and most certainly wouldn't be picked.

…

"My goodness! I thought I had lead an eventful life!" Elizabeth laughed as Celia finished recounting her story over supper.

"You have!" Will put in with a rueful smile. "So, what will you do once you have repaid your _debt_?"

"I honestly don't know," Celia shrugged, sated with plenty of good food and wine. "I… I'm sorry," she apologised as she unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. "It's been along day."

"Of course it has, and you have an early start in the morning," Elizabeth smiled. "I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you, you have been so kind."

"We'll just chalk it up as _another_ favour Jack owes us," the older woman winked. "At this rate, it will take all of his treasure to pay us back!"

"I'll let _you_ suggest that to him!" Will chuckled. "Goodnight, Celia."

"Goodnight, Will, and thanks again."

"You're a friend of Jack's and therefore a friend of ours. I'll see you before dawn."

"Yes," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she exited the dining room with Elizabeth.

"I've got some breeches and a shirt for you to wear. It will save ruining your dress."

"Wha…? All right," Celia agreed uncertainly, wondering if it would be too bold to ask _why _the daughter of the Governor would need a shirt and breeches.

"I find this life a little stifling at times," Elizabeth explained, knowing that the younger woman would be too polite to ask the question that was obviously on her mind. "Will and I take off in a small sloop which we have."

"A…? I see…" Celia pondered. "And your father doesn't mind?"

"My father knows nothing about it!" Elizabeth laughed. "We pretend we're visiting friends but we sail away. We met up with Jack once and spent our holiday on board the _Pearl_, chasing ships.

"Goodness! I'm boring and virtuous compared to you!" Celia gasped, shaking her head in wonderment. "Doesn't it concern you?"

"Leading a double life? No, not really – it keeps me sane, and Will too. Here we are," Elizabeth smiled, pushing open the door to the guest room. "Sleep well, although I doubt you will in a comfortable bed."

"I'll sleep like a log," Celia assured her. "I've dreamt of a nice bed to sleep in for the past few years."

"Hmm," Elizabeth nodded knowingly. "I'll see you before you go in the morning."

"Don't get up on my account."

"Will makes enough noise to wake the dead," she sighed, "so I _will_ see you in the morning."

"All right," Celia chuckled. "Goodnight."

…

"It is a little early to be going to work, is it not, Mister Turner? And you're not even heading in the right direction…"

Both Will and Celia jumped at the sound of the voice and Will tried to push Celia out of sight in a doorway but to no avail.

"And just who is your companion?"

"None of your business!" Will snapped, grabbing Celia's hand and trying to push past the guard.

"You are abroad before it is even light and with a woman who is obviously not your wife - of course it is my business," the guard sneered. "Now if you're not going to answer my question here then perhaps you will tell the Commodore…"

"I don't think the Commodore will thank you for bothering him with such trivialities the day before his wedding," Celia put in, icily.

"Oh, but I think he will… this way." Celia glanced at Will who was trying desperately to think of a plausible story to offer Commodore Norrington, whom he knew had always kept tabs on him in an effort to capture Jack Sparrow, but up until now, he had never been successful and Will realised that his options were few.

"I-I… was meeting a… _friend_," Celia blurted, looking sideways at Will and hoping he would play along.

"And your _friend_ is…?"

"I am not at liberty to say," she replied haughtily. "Mister Turner was escorting me back to where my horse is stabled so that I can get home before light."

"Hmmm," the guard mused, stopping and looking at her with a frown. "And your name is… or aren't you at liberty to tell me that, either?"

"No," she replied meekly, her confidence evaporating under his scrutiny. "But Will doesn't know who my friend is," she added hurriedly. "E-Elizabeth is a friend of mine and she didn't like the idea of me going through town unescorted." '_Oh Lord, how are we going to bluff this_?'

"Perhaps we should go and wake Mistress Turner then, and ask her to verify your story…"

"At least wait until dawn," Will pleaded. "She is with child and I don't want her disturbed or upset."

"Ah, so you _can_ sire children then," the guard mocked cruelly, the fact that the young couple had had no children in four years of marriage being the source of much discussion and snide remarks in the town.

"You…!"

"Will, no!" Celia cried, pushing herself between the two men as Will advanced on the marine. "Don't, he's not worth it," she soothed.

"Go!"

Celia shrieked with fright as two figures hurled themselves towards the trio, one of them grabbing the marine from behind and drawing his blade across the hapless man's throat.

"Ta, Will," came Gabriel Jennings' voice through the darkness. "Th'Cap'n sent me an' Matty along ter meet yer – just as well, eh?"

"Indeed it is," Will gasped with relief. "Things were looking a little tricky…"

"Y-you… k-killed him…" Celia gulped, staring at the dark figure on the ground.

"I had to," Matthias Swain reasoned. "Would have been too thorny fer Will an' 'Lizabeth, otherwise. Talkin' of which, yer'd better get goin' Will – don't want anyone seein' yer around an' puttin' two an' two together, eh?"

"No," Will breathed. "Thanks, lads."

"Couldn't you have tied him up or something?"

"Gawd, Miss Celia," Gabriel sighed acerbically. "He'd still have been able ter talk once he woke up again…"

"I suppose he would," she replied sadly, crossing herself and offering a silent prayer for the soul of the guard. "Thank you, Will, although I almost wish I had never come to you for help, now."

"I'm very glad you did," the blacksmith stated firmly. "And we will be more than pleased to help you out again if ever you need it, all right?"

"But…"

"_All right_?" he demanded gently.

"All right," Celia conceded, reaching out to give Will a peck on the cheek. "Give my love to Elizabeth – oh, and congratulations!"

"Thank you," Will chuckled. "I'd best be going before it gets light. Goodbye, Celia."

"Goodbye, Will, and thanks again." Celia walked away, sandwiched between the two pirates as they left their friend and the stricken guard and headed towards a path which led, eventually, to the cove in which their ship was waiting for them.

…

"Come on… come on…" Jack muttered, peering through the dark along the path and praying that his crewmen and his lover would appear soon. He frowned, not certain whether he had heard a noise or not before shaking his head and deciding that he hadn't. "Where are you?"

"Aw!" Celia yelped quietly as she stubbed her toe on a large stone sticking out of the ground. "How can you know where you are going?"

"Practise," Gabriel informed her in a world-weary tone. "Gawd knows, we've used this trail often enough…"

"Aye," Matty agreed as he traipsed along behind Celia but not so close that he would be caught unawares if she fell.

"Wait..." Gabriel stopped and cocked an ear, positive that he had heard something. "Cap'n?" he whispered loudly.

"About bloody time!" came Jack's drawl from the darkness. "Celia with you?"

"Yes," she gasped, relief at hearing his voice, flooding through her. "Will and Elizabeth put me up for the night."

"That's another one I owe them," he chuckled, his voice drawing ever closer.

"Elizabeth said it will take all of your treasure to pay them back the favours you owe," Celia chuckled, her horror of what had happened earlier dissipating with the relief of being safe once more.

"I'll bet she did," Jack growled but without malice. "No problems?" he asked his men.

"Aye, there was," Matthias Swain told him. "A bleedin' marine had stopped 'em, an' they were about ter be escorted ter th'fort, but me an' Gab jumped him."

"Dead?"

"As a doornail," Matthias laughed.

"Will it affect Will an' Lizzie?" Jack demanded, "there was no-one around, was there?"

"Nah," Gabriel replied. "Miss Celia was just startin' a story about how she was visitin' a _friend_ in town an' that Will was takin' her back to her horse

"A _friend_, eh?" Jack teased, peering at the young woman in the gloomy light.

"It's all I could think of. Exactly how long were you two there for?" Celia asked her two rescuers.

"We were about ter come out an' greet yer an' Will but the marine beat us to it," Matty laughed as he started off down the path once more, eager to get back to the ship and his bunk.

"I just hope they don't connect you ter me, or worse, to th'Turners," Jack mused as she took Celia by the arm and led her along the track, as eager as his doctor to reach the ship, but to get as far away from Jamaica as possible in as quick a time as he could.

"Well what else would you have me say?" Celia insisted. "If you hadn't made me come and look for the damned gravestone in the first place, none of this would have happened! Besides, you're the one who told me to find the blacksmith if there was trouble – well there was! You got yourselves discovered!"

"That's enough!" Jack snapped, angry with her for voicing what he had been scolding himself with since the previous afternoon.

"Pardon me," she sniped, pulling her arm away from his grasp. "But if you really cared for your friends, you wouldn't do this to them."

"No," Jack agreed with a sigh. "It's one more reason fer Norrington ter watch them closely. I'll write ter Elizabeth an' see if I can persuade them ter move this time."

"If yer do, it'll have ter be soon – she's expectin'," Matthias grinned.

"Eh?" Jack gasped. "You're jokin'? Bloody hell!" he chuckled delightedly, his joy tempered by the additional worry that Elizabeth might lose this child as she had two others previously. "Maybe I should…?"

"_No_!" both crewmen exploded together. "Cap'n, there's redbacks at every turn an' will be even more once that one is discovered. It's _far_ too dangerous," Matty reasoned, hoping he would be not involved in another rescue of his, at times, reckless captain.

"I suppose so," Jack sighed, his brow creased with worry for his good friends.

"Cap'n? Is Celia with you?" the dark figure of Joshamee Gibbs called from the gloom of the beach.

"Aye, all present an' correct," Jack replied, casting a glance at the quiet woman beside him. "You all right, luv?"

"If things are so dangerous for Will and Elizabeth, _why_ did you have me go to them for help?"

"Because I was cocky enough ter think we wouldn't be discovered," he admitted with a rueful shrug. "Sorry, luv. But Will an' Elizabeth love this sort of thing happenin'," he added brightly, chuckling to himself as he remember just some of the adventures he and his supposedly respectable friends had had over the past five years.

"I hope they'll be all right," Celia fretted, biting her lip. "I really hope so…"

"Celia, pet, it's good to see you safe and well," Joshamee smiled as they reached him and Josia Phelps, keeping watch on the ships boat beached on the soft sand of the cove.

"Thank you," she replied wearily, accepting his help into the boat and feeling her way to the bench at the bow.

"So, did yer find anythin' in th'graveyard?" Josia enquired as he and Gabriel picked up the oars.

"Yes," she nodded, although they couldn't see the action in the darkness. "It's the church of Saint Dunstan in Tortuga."

'_What_?' Jack exploded inside his head, a cold feeling of dread creeping over him as he remembered ordering Gabriel and Oliver to destroy the church to prevent her from endangering herself by walking to and from it at night – or even during the day. "T-Tortuga…" he repeated, glad she couldn't see his reaction. "Fancy that…"

"How do you know, pet?" Joshamee asked.

"It had a blindfolded man working at an anvil, and the blacksmith that used to come and shoe the horses at the convent would always go and pray to Saint Dunstan in our chapel and he told me that he was the saint of smiths and the blind," the young woman explained.

"Which means it's probably long been discovered," Matty sighed. "So much fer our treasure hunt."

"No harm in lookin', although we'll have ter move all th'rubble – it had collapsed th'last time I saw it," Gabriel reasoned, thinking it best to keep quiet about what he and his erstwhile crewmate had done.

"An' have th'whole of Tortuga wondering what we're bloody well up to an' then havin' ter fight them all off if we _do_ discover somethin'," Jack snapped, not quite believing that fate had managed to kick him in the teeth so successfully.

"The treasure, if there _is_ any, might not be buried there…" Celia put in.

"Oh, I'll bet th'whole of Isla de Muerta that it is," came her lover's heated response. "What better hidin' place than underneath th'noses of some of th'most feared pirates in th'Spanish Main?"

"Well, Cap'n…" Gabriel began, unsure as to his captain's reaction to what he was going to suggest. "Ya could always pretend that yer goin' ter re-build th'church…"

"Eh?"

"Or you could _actually_ re-build it!" Celia burst out excitedly.

"Whoa! Hold yer horses, young lady," Jack replied worriedly. "I'm not re-buildin' th'bloody thing."

"Why not? And kindly don't swear when referring to a church."

"Why not? Well, fer one, it was dangerous fer you to be goin' to and fro. Two, what's th'point? It didn't fall into disrepair fer no reason. Three, it would take too long an' once we get th'treasure, I intend being as far away from Tortuga as possible. Four…"

"All right, all right," Celia sighed. "It was worth a try, I suppose."

"Pretend ter re-buil'd th'church…?" Jack mused, stroking his braids as he considered the idea. "It'd mean a bit of ribbin' from th'other pirates over my _feelings_ fer Celia…" he pondered, talking more to himself than anyone in the boat and he did not notice Celia start at his words.

'_What does he mean, **feelings**_?' she thought with horror. '_Does it mean he has no feelings for me at all_? _Or maybe it's just that he doesn't want to admit them in public_…?'

"Captain approaching," Joshamee called out, breaking the young woman's reverie, as they neared the hull of the _Black Pearl_.

"Celia an' all?" Elliot called out from the deck.

"Aye, Celia an' all," Gabriel replied as he tossed the mooring line up. "So get th'chair rigged, yer lazy bastards!"

"Pot, kettle an' black," someone else on board mocked as the sound of the bosun's chair being made ready could be heard from the boat.

"Sails!" another voice cried. "I see sails!"

"Shit," Jack swore, fumbling about in the gloomy pre-dawn for a rope and climbing up swiftly to the deck of his ship, cursing once more as the opposing ship fired, which fell thankfully short. "Everyone on board as quick as yer like," he barked. "Loose all sail an' man th'guns. Celia, in my cabin an' cover yourself."

"All right," she squeaked as her feet hit the deck running.

"Navy!" the watchman called. "It's th'cursed Navy!"

"Of course it is," Jack sighed, shaking his head at the obvious statement. "It ain't goin' ter be anyone else this close ter Port bloody Royal, is it?" he muttered darkly. "When you're ready, Mister Frazer."

"Just let 'em get a little closer, Cap'n," the master gunner called in reply.

"Not too damned…" Jack did not finish his sentence as the _Pearl_ rocked and keeled as her long nines boomed, filling the air with noise and smoke, and Jack could hear Thomas Frazer urging his men to reload as quickly as they could and the pirate ship rocked again, both from the force of her guns firing once more and the force of the naval ships balls slamming into her. "Damage?"

"Lost number three gun," the Scotsman yelled by return. "Come on, damn yer eyes," he barked to the remaining men. "Have at 'em!"

"All available men to th'guns," Jack ordered. "Go on, Burford – I'll take th'helm."

"Aye, Cap'n," the helmsman nodded, yielding the helm to his captain and running to man one of the cannons at the stern.

"Kill th'bastards!" Jack bellowed. "Hammer them!" '_I hope Celia's all right_,' a small part of his mind worried and he winced as another round of shot crashed into his beloved ship.

Celia cowered on the side cabin deck, beneath the scant covering she had managed to grab before the hostilities started, and prayed hard. Even with her limited knowledge of sea matters, she knew that they were in deep trouble, trapped in the cove with precious little room for manoeuvre. '_Oh Lord, let Jack be all right_.' She screamed loudly as the stern of the main cabin burst out in a cacophony of shattered glass and splintering wood and pulled the covers around her even tighter, in a futile effort to protect herself.

"Shit! Burford, take th'helm back," Jack roared, grabbing a rope and tying the wheel steady as he ran down the steps and into his cabin. "Celia?" His heart stopped then sank as he saw the destruction.

"I-I'm here," she replied timidly. "Oh, Jack…"

"Sorry, luv, but you're goin' ter have ter stay where you are – it's safer, believe it or not."

"Be careful."

"I'll try." Jack turned on his heel and sped back out and up to the helm once more, grasping the railings as the _Pearl_ rocked to and fro under the onslaught. "Frazer?"

"Bring us about, Cap'n, then we can use all th'port guns."

"Bring us about?" Jack repeated incredulously, looking around the tiny cove, made smaller still by Will and Elizabeth's sloop anchored, nestling against the cliff tops. "As you wish, Mister Frazer…" He barked out orders for sail to be reduced and the starboard sweeps to be deployed and slowly but surely, the pirate ship began to turn on her axis, the cannons on deck still bombarding the naval ship. "Which ship is it?" he called to his men.

"Th'_Britannia_," Adam Butler called. "That'd be Gillette, Cap'n."

"So it would be," Jack smiled grimly to himself, grateful it was not the, in his opinion, more skilled Theodore Groves, who was captain of the _Dauntless_. He braced himself when he knew that they were now in a good position to fire a broadside at the _Britannia_, wishing there was some way of warning Celia what was about to come.

Celia froze, too frightened to even breathe as the whole world exploded and part of her was convinced that she had died and this was what hell was like. The ringing in her ears continued for some time but Celia eventually became aware that the gunfire had all but ceased, and she chanced getting up creakily from her crouched position and making her way carefully across to where the stern windows had once been, peering out into the dawn and gasping at the sight of the naval ship, her main mast snapped like a twig and the rigging all torn and tangled. She barely had time to react as another volley boomed from the _Britannia_ and she threw herself back, shrieking as the deck below her rumbled and groaned and then roared as the pirate ship fired back, again and again, beating her opponents into submission until at last, a white flag was waved on the deck of the naval ship, signalling their surrender.

Jack yielded the helm back to Myles Burford and went down the steps, striding along the main deck and surveying the damage to his ship with a worried frown. "I hope ter God th'_Dauntless_ isn't along th'coast waitin' ter finish us off," he muttered.

"I doubt it," Matthias Swain sighed, mopping a cut on his forehead. "They wouldn't have left them ter their fate," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the stricken ship.

"Nah, I suppose not," his captain agreed. "But let's hope they're far enough away that we can get back ter Tortuga safely, eh?"

"Aye, however long that'll take," the ship's doctor fretted, shaking his head sadly. "I have men ter attend…"

"Let me know how bad when yer have time – I'll send Celia down ter you."

"Ta, Cap'n."

Jack leaned over the port rail, facing the wrecked _Britannia_, and waited until someone spotted him. "I want ter speak ter Captain Gillette," he called across.

"The captain is dead," a marine replied. "I'll fetch the First Lieutenant."

'_Dead_? _Hmm_.' "You will let us through," he instructed the First Lieutenant when he arrived at the starboard rail of the ship, "or suffer th'consequences."

"We will let you through," the naval officer agreed heavily, having seen too much death and destruction to want any more of it that day. "But if I ever see your ship again, Sparrow, I will not rest until you are in Davy Jones' locker."

"Promises, promises," Jack taunted, suppressing a shudder at the mention of the sea devil who had so very nearly had his soul. "All able men to th'sweeps, th'rest of you – repair th'riggin' an' sails," he ordered, doing a double take when he saw Celia hovering nearby. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"N-no," she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "J-just…"

"Hey, I know," he soothed. "It's over now, eh? Go an' help Matty, there's a good girl."

"All right," she sighed, wanting more reassurance from him, but at the same time knowing she would not get it, for a time at least.

…

**Five days later**

"Port ho!"

'_Thank goodness for that_!' Celia sighed to herself, wanting nothing more than to feel firm ground beneath her feet after the trauma of the last few days - the constant worry that the Navy would catch them up as they ran running repairs to the ship as they limped towards the pirate haven, and the burial at sea of nine crewmen, including José Santos, which had upset her deeply.

"You all set fer facin' Aggie?" came Jack's voice, breaking her reverie.

"Are you, more to the point?" she chuckled, wagging her finger at him as he crossed the cabin to where she was sitting and sewing an old coat of his. "She won't believe that you didn't force yourself on me."

"So you'll have ter convince her then, won't ya?"

"Maybe…" she mused, a spark of devilry glinting in her eyes. "Or maybe not…"

"Do you want me ter punish you?" Jack warned with mock severity.

"Perhaps," Celia teased, smiling coyly at him. "It depends on the punishment."

"Bloody hell, woman! Do you realise what statements like that do ter me?" he growled, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

"Cap'n! Ah, sorry," Gabriel Jennings apologised as he backed out of the cabin which he had burst into with a cursory knock.

"Knock louder next time, Mister Jennings!" Jack snapped angrily. "What?"

"Ah, umm, th'_Nymph's_ in – I reckon Abe Curzon would be interested in what we've got."

"An' that couldn't have waited?"

"Yes, Cap'n, sorry, Cap'n, Miss Celia…"

"You shouldn't be so hard on them" Celia chided once the crewman had vacated the cabin.

"So you don't mind if they burst in on us?" he retorted with a shake of the head. "They have ter learn ter respect our privacy, savvy?"

"Yes, Jack…"

"An' don't 'yes Jack' me in that tone of voice, or I _will_ punish yer…"

"No, Jack…"

"Celia…" he growled with a grin. "Yer lucky we're almost in port an' I have things ter do."

"Well off you go then and I might be able to finish this coat for you."

"Aye, Cap'n Hammond!" he teased, saluting smartly before turning on his heel and marching from the cabin, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.

…

"Yer did _what_!" Aggie exploded, staring across the rickety table in the middle of the only room in her house. "Yer… fool!"

"Why?" Celia fretted, surprised at the force of her friends anger. "I can't help how I feel about him."

"Didn't mean yer had ter give yourself t'him. Bloody hell, girl!"

"Well I'm sorry I disappointed you!" Celia sniped, standing and pushing past her friend, making to go out of the door.

"Cee – wait! Look, I'm sorry. It's just such a shock, that's all. Yer come back after nearly two months an' I find that Jack and Mouse have fallen out over yer an' Mouse is now gawd knows where, an' yer've opened yer legs fer a bleedin' pirate! He won't feel th'same f'yer, y'know – they never do."

"I know," Celia replied in a small voice, tears welling in her eyes. "But I couldn't resist… it was hard!"

"Obviously," Giselle remarked dryly from where they had thought she was sleeping in her cot.

"Shut yer gob!" Aggie snapped. "Yer sure he didn't force or charm 'is way into yer knickers?"

"Quite sure," Celia nodded, blinking her eyes. "It was my decision and not one I took lightly… well, _too_ lightly."

"We'll make a whore of yer yet!" Giselle cackled which turned into a shriek as Aggie threw a pitcher at the cot. "Cow!"

"Takes one ter know one!"

"The thing is," Celia interrupted, "I may need some of what you take to stop from getting… you know…"

"With child?" Giselle finished for her. "Too late, I reckon. I can imagine th'number of times Jack must've had yer over th'last two months."

"_What_?" Celia exploded, looking to Aggie for reassurance and finding none.

"She's right, fer once," the red haired whore shrugged. "Yer need ter take it as yer doin' it, so ter speak. Although if yer _are_ pregnant, th'stuff can get rid of it fer ya."

"You mean _kill_ the baby?" Celia gulped, looking aghast. "I-I couldn't…"

"Celia… Jack ain't goin' ter be stickin' around – he's a pirate…"

"An' Cap'n Jack Sparrer ter boot," Giselle added. "Ain't no ties known ter womankind that would bind _him_."

"B-but… oh, what am I going to do?" Celia worried, tears springing to her eyes.

"Take th'potion," Aggie suggested. "An' keep some with yer at all times. Didn't Jack say anythin' about preventin' a babe?"

"N-no," the young woman sniffled, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. "And I never gave it a thought, until…"

"Until you realised yer hadn't had a bleed," Giselle put in, sitting up in her cot. "Ah, bloody hell," she sighed, rolling her eyes at Aggie.

"Look," Aggie reasoned, "it ain't like it's a baby until it's born, eh? So yer can't be killin' it if yer take th'potion."

"It is a life and was as soon as conception took place!" Celia wailed, burying her face in her hands and sobbing.

"Yer don't half get yerself into some scrapes," Giselle remarked, getting up from the bunk and crossing over to the crying woman and placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "Maybe Jack will support yer…"

"You think so?" Celia asked, her head snapping up and she looked at the blonde whore with hope shining in her eyes. "Or maybe he will be pleased to have a child – his offspring! I should go and tell him."

"Whoa! Hold yer horses! Haven't yer heard a word we've been sayin'?"

"But you don't understand, I've seen a different side to Jack," Celia implored, "I'm sure he will not cast me aside." She sprang to her feet and hurried from the small house before either of her friends could say anything.

"She's settin' up fer a fall," Giselle observed, shaking her head. "He ain't goin' ter be tied down by a woman whether she's havin' his child or not."

"I know," Aggie fretted. "I should go after her an' stop her."

"Nah – she's got ter find out sometime, might as well be sooner…"

…

Celia hesitated before pushing open the door to the Faithful Bride and blanched at the noise, smoke and smell that hit her all at the same time. She glanced around worriedly, trying to avoid the lecherous stares of the men inside the infamous tavern.

"Oi! Celia! Over here!"

"Elliot," she breathed gratefully as she made her way over to where he was waving his good arm frantically. "Thanks goodness you're here."

"As am I…" Jack drawled, hastily pushing a whore off his lap. "What are you doin' in here?"

"Erm… Aggie and Giselle will be working soon, so I thought I'd, erm… come and tell you I'll be going back to the ship," she gabbled, biting her lip to stop herself from bursting into tears. '_He was going to go with a whore_,' she thought, biting harder on her lip.

"All right," Jack nodded. "I'll take yer back, savvy?"

"T-thank you," she smiled, her heart soaring again.

"Ah, Mish Shelia…"

Celia smiled ruefully at the sight of Gabriel Jennings, more than a little inebriated, and she went to push past him.

"Ain't it funny?" he slurred, catching her arm and preventing her from moving. "What we destroy – we re-build…" he giggled, weaving alarmingly.

"Pardon?"

"Th'ch… church – Cap'n an' me destroyed it, an' Cap'n an' me'll build it again…"

"Come on, lass," Jack growled, taking her arm and pulling her away from his drunken crewman. "Let's get yer back…"

"_You_ destroyed the church?" she enquired in an icy tone. "You did, didn't you? You… _bastard_!" she spat, slapping him hard. "How dare you!"

"An' just what do you think would have happened if you'd continued ter walk th'streets of Tortuga at night, eh?" Jack snapped, angry with his secret being found out and angry that the whole of the tavern had fallen silent and was hanging on to every word of the argument.

"Nothing as it happens," Celia retorted, "for Stockton took me the following day, so your desecration was in vain, _Captain_ Sparrow!" She snatched her arm from his grasp and shoved two other men aside, who were blocking her way to the door. "Don't follow me! I don't wish for your company."

"Fine," came the riposte and Jack stood in the middle of the floor, watching as his lover flounced from the bar, wondering if he should swallow his pride and go after her.

"Sh-shorry, Cap'n," Gabriel said, a hangdog look on his face. "Didn't mean…"

"Forget it, Jennings," Jack snarled, storming over to the bar and ordering a bottle of their finest rum, intent on drowning his sorrows.

…

'_I can't believe it_,' Celia thought in horror as she fled down the streets of Tortuga, not knowing where she was going, but knowing she did not want to go to Aggie and Giselle's – not yet awhile. She found herself at the ruined church and her sobs started afresh as the full realisation of what Jack had done, hit her, and she sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands, wondering as she cried, just how she was ever going to forgive him for what he had done.

…

"Captain… yer not goin' ter like this…"

"So sod off," Jack growled, wincing as his head pounded viciously thanks to the large amount of rum he had drunk the previous night.

"There's a whole gang of pirates up at th'church… it seems Miss Celia has told th'whole town there might be treasure buried there…" Matthias Swain backed away as Jack jumped to his feet, his face black with anger.

"I'm goin' ter bloody well kill her!" he threatened; grabbing his effects from the floor of the room someone had hauled him in to the previous night. "Where is she?"

"That's th'thing, Cap'n – nobody knows. No-one's seen her since last night, not even Aggie."

"She can't have gone far," Jack glowered, tying his sword belt around his waist at the second time of asking and ramming his hat on his head, an action that he immediately regretted as the self-inflicted pain intensified.

"We've been searchin' th'whole mornin', Cap'n," the ship's doctor explained, backing away again as his captain advanced on him.

"All morning? What th'hell time is it an' why wasn't I woken earlier?"

"It's three bells of th'afternoon watch, an' some of us have tried ter wake yer, but…"

"Da?" Peter Swain's voice called from the corridor outside. "Mister Gibbs says some pouches have gone missin' from th'cap'n's cabin…"

"She's gone too damned far!" Jack roared, his anger overcoming the pain.

"She might say th'same about yer," Matty reasoned. "Do we continue ter look fer her?"

"Aye, an' I'll be joinin' you!"

…

Celia gulped as she looked at herself in the hand glass she had taken from the private head of Jack's cabin, running her hand over her closely cropped head and then looking down at the pile of hair pooled around her feet. She blinked back tears and shook herself physically and mentally before reluctantly putting the glass down on the floor of the derelict house she had holed up in, and checking herself over, adjusting the binding which she had wound around her breasts, where it cut into her, and praying that she would pass for a lad, or boy, at least. With a deep breath, Celia vacated the building, glancing furtively around to make sure she had not been spotted, and squatted down, picking up some dirt and rubbing it into her face and hair and over her clothes before hurrying towards the docks, where there were a number of small boats and sloops in the harbour that had come to trade with the pirates, and she hoped that she would be able to find passage on one of them. '_You must be mad_,' a voice inside her head chided. '_That is not the worst thing anyone has ever done and he did it out of concern for you, even before you had given yourself to him. Don't do this_…' But her chin jutted out and a steely glint flashed in her eyes as she looked at which might be the best option to try her luck, before deciding on a small fishing sloop, with women working on board, as well as men.

"Excuse me," she called, deciding not to try and disguise her voice and having to remember to keep up the pretence. Peter Swain had a high voice and she hoped that hers would sound similar. "Are.. _yer _lookin' fer workers." '_I must talk the way they do, though_,' she belatedly thought.

"Yer wantin' work?" a man on board enquired, looking at her with hands on hips.

"Ye… _aye_."

"Can yer gut an' fillet fish?"

'_Oh no_…' "I-I'm a quick learner…"

"Go on, Abe," one of the women urged. "We need some more help an' yer know it."

"It's hard work," Abe warned, turning his attention back to Celia. "Ya up to it?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded eagerly. "Ain't ever been afraid of 'ard work."

"That's our boat there," he nodded, indicating a small rowing boat moored to the quayside. "Yer'll have ter row yerself over."

"A-all right," Celia replied hesitantly, climbing down the steps and into the boat, picking up the oars and hoping it would be as easy as it appeared to be when the crew of the _Black Pearl_ rowed her. '_The Pearl_,' she thought sadly, looking across at the dark ship and biting her lip. '_I can't go back, not after what he did… besides, Aggie and Giselle were right, he'd never want to be tied down with me and a baby_…' She dragged her attention back to the task in hand and began pulling on the oars, gasping with shock at how hard it was, but in order to keep up the pretence of being an able lad, she gritted her teeth and continued to pull until the boat knocked against the hull of the _Merry Dancer_.

"What's yer name, boy?" Abe asked, grabbing the mooring line as Celia threw it up.

"S-Simon," she replied, grabbing a rope ladder and climbing up with more confidence than she felt.

"What ship yer from, Simon?"

"I-I haven't worked on a ship f-fer a while," Celia lied. "Been livin' on th'streets."

"Cor! Yer look a bag of bones, lad," one of the women smiled kindly. "I'm Mary – Abe's wife, an' this is me sister, Betsy."

"Nice ter meet yer," Celia replied, chancing a small smile. "Where d'yer want me ter start?"

"That's what I like ter hear!" Abe laughed, the sound booming across the deck. "Yer can swab th'decks, if ya like – that'll keep yer occupied until we're ready ter sail."

"When will yer be sailin'?"

"High tide," the captain of the _Merry Dancer_ replied over his shoulder as he went below.

"Can't wait," Mary sighed before Celia had chance to wonder when high tide was. "I hate comin' ter this place – scares th'bejaysus out of me."

"Me too," Celia agreed with a rueful smile as she picked up a pail and hauled it over the side to draw up some water to begin her task. "Me too…"

…

Jack pushed his hat back and scratched his head through the bandana. He and his crew had been searching for three hours and no-one had come up with any sign of his errant lover. He glanced at Joshamee Gibbs who shrugged his shoulders in return, and then along the street, frowning as he heard someone shouting excitedly.

"Cap'n! Thank gawd I've found yer," Elliot panted as he rounded a corner, holding up his hand in which he clasped a hank of hair. "I reckon this is Celia's."

Jack took the hair off his crewman and stared at it, his frown deepening. "Bloody hell!" he eventually swore, casting the hair to the ground and spinning around. "To th'dock's!"

"Eh?" Joshamee queried as he followed, albeit at a much slower pace than the young and fitter man.

"She's disguised herself an' that only means one thing – she's goin' ter take off!"

"Oh no," the portly man groaned, trying to find an extra burst of speed from somewhere. "I hope it's not too late…"

"High tide is… around about now!" Jack called, the realisation giving him more haste and he ran as fast as his legs would take him to the docks of the pirate town.

"But, Cap'n," Elliot gasped as he struggled to keep pace with Jack, owning to his injury. "We ain't got enough men on board ter sail – an' gawd knows where th'rest of them are – it'd take all night ter round everyone up again. B'sides… th'ship ain't in any fit state ter sail."

Jack turned his head and glared at the younger man, cross with him for pointing out the obvious, but at the same time praying that by some chance, his entire crew would be waiting at the quayside and that his ship would be miraculously repaired. He skidded to a halt as he reached the wharf, throwing his hands up in despair as he watched four vessels making their way towards the natural mouth of the harbour and out to the open ocean. "Celia!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Celia!"

"I'll go an' see who I can find," Elliot offered, making to run towards the town until stopped by his captain's raised hand.

"No point," Jack sighed despondently. "By th'time you've found enough of them, they could be well away an' probably goin' in different directions, knowin' my luck…"

"But it's worth a try, Cap'n!" the younger man protested. "Ain't it…?"

"All right, lad," Jack nodded, forcing a smile. "Go an' see who yer can find…" He waited until Elliot had gone from earshot before sighing deeply once more, staring at the three remaining boats still in the harbour, the fourth already having made her way out of the mouth. "Bloody hell, Gibbs…"

"I hate to say it, Jack…"

"Well don't!" the pirate captain snapped. "I know what I ordered Fernan an' Burford ter do was wrong, but I did it ter protect her, savvy?"

"I know," the quartermaster replied with a sigh. "She might not be on board one of those boats."

"Why else would she disguise herself, eh? I wonder if Aggie knows where she's goin'?" Jack pushed past Gibbs and sped in the direction of the two whore's house, hoping against hope that they would know of Celia's plans. "Aggie," he panted, pushing open the door to the ramshackle house without knocking first. "Where's Celia?"

"Bloody hell, Sparrow!" the red haired woman shrieked as she pushed Abraham Curzon off her and grabbed a coverlet, hoisting it to her chin.

"Thanks a bunch, Jack!" Curzon growled, hauling his breeches up and shooting him a dire look as he stormed from the house, slamming the door so hard that the walls shook.

"What th'fuck d'yer mean, 'where's Celia'? What's happened, Jack?" she asked, a warning tone in her voice. "What yer done ter her…?"

"Oh shit," Jack murmured, sitting heavily on a chair and running his hands across his face as hopelessness and fatigue washed over him. "She's gone, an' yes, it's all my fault…"

"Yer know she thought she was pregnant…?"

"_What_!" he exploded, thinking that things could not get any worse if they possibly tried. '_Damn you, you bloody fool_!' he cursed himself. "I have ter try an' find her," he lamented, knowing full well that it was futile.

…

**Five months later**

Celia winced as a drunkard barged into her and she placed a protective hand on her swollen belly, smiling to herself as she felt the child kick in response. She stopped to ease her back, placing the basket of food on the ground as she did. The coins that she had stolen from Jack's cabin had been enough to tide her over, and with the work that she did, taking in laundry and sewing in the town of Grand Turk, meant that she was better off than most women would be in her position. Celia stooped to pick the basket up again, crying in alarm as someone else pushed into her and grabbed the basket from her hand. "Stop! Thief!" she called, trying her best to run after the robber, but her bulk made it difficult. "Oh…" she sighed, throwing her hands up. '_Now I have to go all the way home and come all the way back again –and before it gets dark_.' She started on her way again, despondency settling on her like a cloak as she trudged along the track, the rains from a storm the previous day making the way muddy and at times treacherously slippery.

"Celia?" a voice called. "Dear God, is that you?"

"What...?" she gasped, whirling around and looking at the speaker, her eyes going wide in astonishment. "Oliver…?"

"What in th'world…? Oh, yer…" he glanced down at her belly. "Is it…? Sorry, none of my business."

"Oliver?" she repeated incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Me ship docked this mornin' – gawd, I can't believe it's yer."

"Likewise," she replied, still dazed at the chance meeting. "Yes, it is, and yes, it is," she shrugged, belatedly replying to his many questions. "Why don't you come back to my house and we can catch up on all that's happened?"

"I'd love ter," he grinned, offering her his arm. "Ah, th'Cap'n ain't…?"

"No, I… _left_ him. I found out that he destroyed, or at least he _had_, the church in Tortuga destroyed. I… ran away," she confessed, not adding that she had berated herself ever since for being hasty and foolhardy, now realising that he had done it for her.

"Ah…" Oliver nodded, wondering if she knew his part in it . '_She wouldn't be so friendly towards yer if she knew_,' he reasoned to himself. "It looks like we've got a fair bit of catchin' up ter do, eh?"

"Indeed it does," Celia smiled. "You first."

"Ah, well… I dunno if th'cap'n told yer what happened – he did? Ah… well, I found myself a berth on board th'_Jester_ at Saint Marta an' have been with them ever since, although th'cap'n's a right bas… sod."

"I'm glad you weren't hurt or anything. I'm sorry for, you know…"

"Me too," he smiled ruefully. "Should've kept me big mouth shut an' me feelings ter myself. Are yer with… anyone else, like?"

"No," Celia replied, shaking her head sadly. There had been one of two men interested in her when she first arrived in Grand Turk, despite her closely cropped hair, but as soon as her belly started to swell, all suitors had melted away, leaving her with just a cat for company.

"I see," he replied brightly, desperately hoping he did not sound too eager. "So what happened ter ye after Saint Marta?"

"Oh, goodness," she breathed, clinging on to him as she almost slipped. "I think it might be best to wait until we're safely inside – oh!" she groaned, suddenly remembering her stolen basket. "I will have to go back to town straight away. Some _bastard_ stole my food."

"Ah, bloody hell. I'll see yer home then go an' fetch yer some more – save yer havin' ter go out again, eh?"

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that, Oliver."

"Yer didn't, I offered," the Irishman grinned. "An' I doubt anyone would try an' steal food from me!"

"No," she chuckled, feeling glad of having a friendly face and someone to talk to. "How long will you be staying?"

"That depends."

"On what? Are you stopping for supplies or business?"

"Supplies, but I might be lookin' fer another berth."

"Why?" Celia enquired, looking sideways at him.

"Why d'yer think, Celia, me darlin'? My feelings f'yer haven't changed."

"Oh… I see…"

"So – is there a chance?"

"I don't know," she admitted, coming to a stop and regarding him. "Wouldn't you be worried that I might say yes just to secure a future for me and my child – _Jack's_ child?"

"That's a risk worth takin', in my opinion," he shrugged, cupping her face with his hands. "An' I don't mind bringin' th'babe up as my own. Cap'n Sparrow is a good man – it was just unfortunate that I happened ter love yer as well."

"I-I…" Celia gulped, tears welling in her eyes at the generosity of his statement and she found herself nodding her head, a squeal of surprise being stifled by his lips closing on hers.

…

**The End**

The story continues in New Beginnings – Ani.


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